


Recumbent

by Geishacomb



Series: Recumbent [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Choking, Darth Tantrum and his Evil Space Ginger, F/M, Hux is Not Nice, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kylo Ren Has Issues, M/M, When is there NOT choking with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:05:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geishacomb/pseuds/Geishacomb
Summary: After the events of The Last Jedi, a reluctant General Hux sets about winning Ren to his side. It doesn’t go exactly according to plan.OR: the General accidentally seduces his clueless new Supreme Leader.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: My humble offering to this wonderful fandom! First time writing in FOREVER, so all feedback is much appreciated.
> 
> Please note the prologue occurs many years AFTER the beginning of the story (in media res style, baby).

Deep in the bowels of the Imperium Citadel, there lies a very curious effigy. 

At first glance, the untrained eye would think it to be a statue: a carved, marble pearlescence, imitating the bygone likeness of the corpse laid in the plinth below it. Such was the style of the rich and dead in the Old Republic. 

But look closer, and you’ll see the soft, blinking red and yellow lights, the carefully concealed control panel, and realise that it is in fact a Carbonite tray.  


Unlike the multitude of other containers erected around it, the lifeform inside the container looks serene. Dressed in a ceremonial and somewhat outdated military uniform, his hands (oddly delicate for a man of his stature) are neatly folded over one another. 

His eyes are closed, mouth slack but prim. His hair is parted and combed with razor-like precision. Not a single strand is out of place.  


Through the greywash veneer of the Carbonite, you have no way of knowing that the uniform is luminously white, or that the man’s hair is the colour of fire. The brocade on his shoulder gold twisted up with crimson, the material exceptionally expensive. 

He could be asleep. And he is, after a fashion. 

Every night, once the three moons have slipped beyond the horizon and opaque blackness has descended, the Imperator makes a long pilgrimage to this place from his suite. 

He is the only visitor permitted entry here, bar the two guards. The cavernous space, commonly referred to as the catacombs, has a great many more residents now than it did when it was built. They twist and curl in a hellish portrait gallery of pain. Some frozen mid-howl, some crumpled in the corners of their minute cells. Begging. Praying. 

The Imperator wonders faintly if the Grand Marshall would have approved. Likely not. The sentiment resurrects the man’s face in his mind’s eye, the disapproving jump of a muscle in his cheek, the soft cluck of his tongue on the roof of his mouth. The most miniature of glares. 

Agitated, he extends a palm. The nearest container crashes screaming to the floor, shattering into infinite irretrievable shards. The light flickers then blinks, sputtering, out. 

The heavy black silks and silversteel wool-knit of his robes sweep the floor in tandem with the slam of his bare feet. He’s not one to stand on ceremony. That was always-

He comes to a jarring halt before the effigy. Erected upright, they stand almost nose-to-nose. Almost. Those much-maligned inches the Marshal loathed must haunt him still. Or they would, if he dreamed. The Imperator assumes he doesn’t. Whenever he dares, haphazard, to reach inside that precious skull, he encounters only a howling emptiness.

His pale hand expands, spanning across the length of the sleeping man’s face. His thumb is a whisper from the curl of a grey lip, his fingers curled in a childlike claw from temple to jaw.

His throat works. He exhales, cants his head forward, smooth dark hair falling across his forehead. It brushes the tip of the man’s nose like a caress. 

“Hux.” Part plea, part command. As always, it goes unheard: “Wake up.”


	2. Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to all of you darlings who left kudos! Please note, chapter 2 commences just a day or so after the events of TLJ, and many, many years before the prologue.

He couldn’t slay the beast, now. No. 

Not this oddly pitiful tangle of power wrapped up in a brooding, flailing manchild. No, that opportunity had slipped beyond him. No use in dwelling on it. He was certain that Ren knew. How could he not, unless his famed powers had failed to pluck Hux’ intentions from behind his eyes?

No matter. It was gargantuan to admit, but for now, Ren was his necessary ally. He hadn’t navigated the whispering halls of the academy or the cutthroat chain of command without learning patience. Discipline. And above all, adaptability. 

As his Father used to say, power, is power, is power. Or he used to before he choked on those unfortunate Donna fruit seeds. Shame, that. 

So, he hypothesised to himself, as he dipped the tips of his fingers into the cool press of the pink pigment gel on his vanity table. What does one do with a beast when you cannot slay it?

Why, tame it, of course. Alright. But how? Now, there’s the rub. 

He swirls his fingertips in the thick, viscous gel and thinks. The liquid is precisely the colour of his own skintone. Pale to the point of milkiness, with a shy pink tint. The colour of an Arkanesian sow’s underbelly, his Father had said, once. Then aimed a vicious kick to his son’s ribs. 

Hux sighs. Tugs the lip of his vest lower with clean precision, and traces a sweep of the gel from the hollow dip between his collarbones up to just below his chin. He picks up and squeezes the soft, natural sea-sponge press beside the pot of gel, and dabs at the smear, coaxing it into a matte coat. 

He nods to himself, lips pursed. It obscures the ugly purpling skin beneath it perfectly. 

“Why aren’t you using the bacta spray?”

Hux’ knees slam into the bottom of the vanity table with a sickening CRACK, and he whirls on the black chrome stool to face the intruder “Tarkin’s wrinkled BALLSACK, Ren.”

His heart is slamming so hard in his chest it feels like it’s trying to crawl up into his throat. He clenches his fists, nails scraping on the vanity veneer. Ren stands just inside the hollow arch of the bedroom doorway, silhouetted against the lowered uplights behind him.

Hux scowls. Melodramatic little- “Lights, 70%.” Ren’s ridiculously thick and almost girlish lashes sweep and his pupils pinhole in the glare “How the kriff did you get in here?!”

Ren says nothing. He’s dressed in his classic day-clothes, despite the hour (how many versions of that kriffing outfit does he own, anyway?!). His hair is lank and unkempt, as it has been for some time now. Hux catches himself wondering if the Supreme Leader had to tell the thrice-damned mutant when to bathe, too. Is that duty, too, now falling to him?

Hux snarls, whirling back to face the mirror “You know what? I don’t care. Go away, you insufferable, creeping boy.”

An enormous crack bites into the mirror before Hux’ nose as the durasteel buckles around it. 

Ren’s bulk is suddenly at his back “I am no BOY, I am-“

Hux stands abruptly, bringing himself nose to nose with the seething brat “Yes, yes, our most revered Supreme Leader. Indeed. Now get out.”

If his voice cracks just a little, well. His throat had been crushed not thirty cycles ago. It was to be expected. 

Ren’s nostrils flare and his shoulders do that odd shuffle-slump he always does when taken aback. Hux holds his gaze hollow, eyes narrowed. Channels as much disdain and dignity into his stare as he dares. 

“You’re not afraid of me.” Ren blinks slowly, as Hux once saw a rare ebony bush-cat do in a zoo. In that animal, it had been an indicator of passivity. Hux snorts, and Ren frowns. 

Restraining himself from giving the infuriating man a pointless shove, Hux abruptly sits back down, turning back to the task at hand “No. I’m furious.” 

Blessed silence. It stretches on, even as Hux picks up the sponge and gel-pot again, and continues. 

“You were angry then, too.” Ren says, tone clear and abrupt like the ring of a bell. It cuts, Ren’s voice “Your thoughts tore at me like rabid crows.”

Then. Hux’ lips curl, and Ren’s do too, smug. Basking in his remembered triumph. In Hux, brought to his knees, smoke in his lungs and salt in the air. Prostrate and humbled in the Supreme Leader’s throne room. He shivers, suddenly acutely aware that his shoulders and arms are bare.

“How poetic.” He sneers.

Ren pauses, then “You never answered my question.”

“What?!”

“Why are you using that – stuff.”

Stuff. Such an infantile word. Admittedly, it is an archaic thing to use. There are plenty more modern solutions at Hux’ disposable to deal with his – problem. The aforementioned bacta spray, for instance. It would cool and knit the skin until the rawness was barely noticeable.

Hux pauses in his ministrations, fingers lowering. He is hit by a sudden wash of memories:

The kiss of silks wrapped tightly against his Mother’s long, swanlike neck. 

His Father’s pudgy fingers, their knuckles white, wrapped around the throttling tendons there. 

Sometimes leathered. Sometimes naked. Squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.

His own shy, cupped hands offering up a medical hypno-shot, stolen, of course ‘Mother, here. This will help.’

She’d smiled, taken his fingers and folded them back over the silver slip of metal, and pushed them away ‘No, my little chit. The pain reminds me I’m weak. It reminds me I must be strong.’

Hux blinks, avoids Ren’s dark eyes in the mirror “Ah. Somewhat of a tradition, I suppose.”

There is a very long, empty silence. 

“Your Father used to choke your Mother.” Ren says, suddenly, surprised. And Hux sees RED.

He turns and slams his right fist into Ren’s sternum with all his might. The bastard barely staggers “You have NO right-!”

“I’m nothing like him.”

Hux splutters, dumbfounded “What-“

Ren frowns, overlarge lips pursing. Then he shoves Hux hard in the shoulder, sending him sprawling into the legs of the upturned stool “I said, I’m nothing like him. Your Father.”

It sounds half a statement, half a question. Hux suddenly finds himself laughing, the bitter noise bubbling up from his lungs and congealing in his mouth “You’re quite correct.” He stares up at Ren coldly, hating him “He had the guts to use his hands to do it.”

Ren slams his fist into the floor-to-ceiling wardrobe units beside him, caving them in “I’M NOTHING LIKE HIM!”

Hux stares up at him impassive, breathing hard, belly dipping. His wrist lays delicately over the upturned leg of the stool, like a makeshift throne. Ren sniffs, defiantly “I’m strong. I’m powerful.” 

One man stares up at another, and finally, sees him. 

“He’s dead. I’m not.” Hux says, hollowly. It’s a mantra he’s repeated to himself for years “It’s what I tell myself. A comfort to soothe my ego. I wonder, is that what you’re telling yourself, now? About him? Snoke?” he cocks his head, and thinks, this is cruel, but it’s only what you deserve “About your Father?”

Ren isn’t here to taunt him. Ren is lonely. Ren is scared. Ren has crossed the space between them in the fraction of a moment, and his hands are curled around Hux’ neck, smearing the gel.

They sit, frozen. Nothing but the sound of creaking leather and steaming gas vents. Ren’s fingers tremble, his lower lip is wet. He looks like he’s about to scream. He looks like he’s about to cry.

Hux exhales. One long, slow breath, his adam’s apple bobbing against the curve of Ren’s palms “Go on, then.”

Ren stares, and trembles. More silence. Hux feels suddenly immensely weary.

He makes a soft sound of surprise when those hands retreat and are suddenly shoved roughly beneath his armpits, dragging him upright like a child. Set on his feet, Hux stares as Ren rights the stool without so much as a wave of his palm, and presses his palms to Hux’ shoulders “Sit.”

Hux does so. More out of astonishment, than anything. 

Methodically, Ren strips the gloves from his hands, tosses them on the floor. Hux is immediately annoyed by this, and so distracted that he doesn’t react to the initial, cool give of the gel being re-applied to his skin.

He ceases to breathe. Can do nothing but stare as Ren, frowning very slightly in concentration, sweeps the paste up, and then down with the pads of two fingers. He has to stoop to do it, enormous as he is. 

He’s also close. Very close indeed. Hux can see the slight shadow of unshaved hair in his soft cheeks. Why is everything about Kylo Ren a kriffing contradiction....?

Something breaks, quietly, between them. Like a wave passing harmlessly over sharp rocks, and dispelling. 

Ren draws back, fingers damp. Nods. Hux licks his lips and says, hoarsely “I didn’t give you permission to do that.”

Ren shrugs, wipes his dirty fingertips on the padding of his tunic. This also irritates Hux “I don’t need it.”

The general stares up at him, utterly lost “This is a curious game you’re playing, Ren.”

Ren’s naked finger’s twitch awkwardly against his thighs, caught. As if flitting to reach, again, to touch. And suddenly, Hux sees what Snoke must have seen. 

The lonely creature, the boy. So raw, so powerful. So ripe. So lost. 

Ah. So that’s it. This is how you tame the beast. 

Firmly, Hux reaches out and folds his pale, long fingers around Ren’s right wrist. Skitters his fingertips against the underside of the knight’s coarse palms, and lifts Ren’s knuckles to press, lightly, against his own lips. 

“....all hail the Supreme Leader.” He says, softly. It was a promise, a declaration of war. It was the beginning of the end.


	3. Tribute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If anybody has any thoughts/comments/suggestions, don't be shy! Drop me a line! Feedback is much appreciated.
> 
> This chapter, Hux gets Ren a present. Let's see how that turns out. Here's a link explaining said gift, if y'all are interested: bit.ly/1zdo7iQ

No wonder Ren had been enamoured of the girl.

She wasn’t much to look at, Hux mused, as he viewed the silent holo-footage from the Supreme Leader’s elevator. (Naturally, there were no cameras in the throne room). Skinny, unremarkable features, and hair the colour of dust-mud. 

But she did possess something Ren had wanted. Companionship. Understanding.

Hux had reviewed the footage. The baffling sequence of scenes where Ren spoke, huffing and wet-lipped, to thin air. If it had been anyone else he’d have committed the oaf to psych and have done with it, but. 

That appallingly clumsy attempt to seduce the girl with his glistening abdominals had clearly failed, then, Hux mused. He wondered if Ren had every truly spoken to a LADY before. Or a man. Had ever been touched, like that. He could only assume not, from the flickers of surprise, confusion and suspicion he’d witnessed from the knight in passing. 

He needed Ren. Or, to be more precise, he needed Ren to need HIM.

Power was somewhat of an opiate to Hux, always had been. He found it equally lulling and destructive. He cherished it in himself, craved it in others. Jealously guarded what he had and envied what he hadn’t. Perhaps that was why he loathed Ren so fiercely. All that ability, that immense power, wasted. Flung at the universe without thought, without DIRECTION.

If he could direct it....dictate it....

He winced as the pressure at the back of skull pulsed suddenly, sore. It had been persistent, now, for days. Ever since Ren had snatched the throne from beneath his grasping hands in that kriffing throne room. 

“-eneral, sir?”

Hux started as Bracken repeated herself, patiently “The Ravager has located one of the fleeing Rebellion ships, just three parsecs from Dextra II, sir. Shall they engage...?”

“No, keep tailing them. They’re no threat. And this little fish may lead us to bigger bites, no, Commander?”

She flashed him a leering grin, which he returned. Oh, but he did love enthusiasm in an officer “Yes, General. At once.”

He needed to rebuild his reputation anew, after the ravaging Snoke and Ren together had done to it. On that note....

“....Mitaka?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Ensure you distribute double rec-time for the repair crews on decks 6 through 9. Their conduct has been exemplary.”

Mitaka’s mouth fell open as though he had just declared today National Hug-a-Bantha day. Hux frowned. He wasn’t SO hard on his men that – alright, well. Perhaps he was. 

“Yes, sir! At once sir!”

Satisfied, his thoughts returned, as always, to the conundrum of Kylo Ren. 

He could offer his new Supreme Leader no knowledge of the Force and all that mystical rot. No large doe-eyes and earnest mouth, such as the girl had. But he had other talents. Crude and complex. 

An offering. A tribute, a kriffing great present. That’s what he needed. Something that would impress and endear the bedraggled manchild to him. What could Ren, suddenly starkly alone, ripe with fear and rank with sweat, want most right now...?

He snapped his fingers, struck. Beside him, several officer’s looked up, curious “Bracken!”

“General, sir?”

Hux rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, agitated “Has work concluded on the excavation efforts on Endor....?”

“Indeed, sir. Completed about three tera-cycles ago, I believe.”

Hux nodded. He recalled reading a report on the initial findings not too long ago. Some salvageable tech, mostly. But also some fascinating items from the wreck of the stellar-class Dreadnought, the Vigilance “Get me an inventory of what was found.”

....if he could acquire what he had in mind....Ren might well kiss him. His nose wrinkled at the thought. 

Many cycles and several sleepless nights later, the General swept unannounced into the new Supreme Leader’s private training chambers. Turns about fair play.

Unsurprisingly, their resident force-user was shirtless, unwashed, and throwing some kind of temper tantrum against flying, glowing balls. Just your average Tuesday, then. Ren turned vehement eyes on his intruder, chest heaving. Hux noted with some detachment that the strange constellation-like markings that dotted Ren’s face extended across the planes of his body, too.

“Come with me.” Hux barked, exuding smugness “I’ve found something you’ll like.”

Ren stared, then drew himself slowly up from his combat stance “You don’t command me, General.” He was doing his level best to sound bored, aloof. Hux was beginning to worry he was having an influence on the man’s attitude. 

“Yes, yes. Let’s set posturing aside, for once. Come.” Hux laced his hands behind his back, surprised to find himself a little – excited, too “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

Ren deactivated his saber, scowling at the other man’s jovial mood. After a moment, he shrugged, sensing no trap, and headed for the door.

Hux pressed a palm to the pale expanse of passing shoulder and cocked an eyebrow “Perhaps dress yourself, first?”

Ren stared at him blankly. Odd, that he’d somehow gone from hiding behind a bucket and body-fitting monk knits to full upper body nudity in the space of less than a week. Perhaps that’s what getting dumped via Force-call did to a man. Hux wouldn’t know. He’d never been dumped.

Hux rolled his eyes and turned neatly on his heel “Very well. Follow me.”

He led Ren via a somewhat discreet route. He didn’t want to answer too many probing questions about what the General was doing leading a half naked Ren through the corridors of the Retribution, in the early evening. 

A short elevator ride later, and they’d arrived at the cool and utterly deserted cargo bay twelve. 

Stepping across the threshold, Ren tensed, and seemed to almost sniff the air. An answering prickle ran up Hux’ spine in sympathy, and he suppressed a surge of revulsion “Lights, 60%.”

The bay was gargantuan and largely empty, save for an enormous, ebony container situated at the far end beside a parked cargo ship. Ren’s eyes honed immediately in on it, narrowing. 

Hux watched him closely, and began to walk slowly towards it “I realise things have been....” he searches for the appropriate word. None fit “Somewhat chaotic. Of late.”

He felt the same pressure, the same odd curdling of fear and bloodlust, as he had upon the podium during his speech on Starkiller. That same anticipation of something enormous and earth-shattering about to take place. He wondered why. 

“It would benefit all of us if you had somewhere to....what do you force-sensitives say? ‘Calm your mind’?”

Ren snorted “That’s jedi poodoo.”

Hux blinked at the infantile phrase “Yes, well. Somewhere for you to kriffing well check your temper before it blows up another ship, then.”

He could sense Ren’s curiosity. Hook, line. Now to sink. He tapped in the access codes and the container opened its enormous doors with a pneumatic hiss. 

Ren’s mouth fell open. His fists uncurled. He outright gaped, like a child seeing an ocean for the very first time. Hux’ lips twitched. 

A soft clang as Ren’s booted footsteps entered the container “....this....this is....”

The General folded his arms, keeping his distance. Ren was reminding him oddly of the first time he’d had to bribe Millicent into a carrier box for a visit to the vet “Darth Vader’s meditation chamber, if I’m not mistaken.”

Ren inhaled, sharply. He stepped quickly over, hesitating briefly, before sliding his fingertips against the cool, black metal. The entire construction resembled a sort of cracked eggshell. Neat, serrated barbs like teeth thrust up around the flickering centre. Protective. Foreboding. 

Surprising himself, Hux said softly “...I do hope it’s the original?”

“It is.” Ren said, agitated, breathless, pupils blown “I can- I can feel it. Feel- him.”

Hux wondered what it must be like. What whisperings this strange object held from a long dead monster. To him, it looked as it was: a collection of metal and old wirings. He laced his hands behind his back.

“The mechanisms no longer work, but I trust you won’t need that.” He cleared his throat “I can have the open and close function restored-“

“I’ll do it myself.” Ren snapped, caressing the carcass like it was a precious friend “Nobody else is to touch it.”

Hux nodded, wordless. And waited. 

A few moments later, Ren whirled on him, eyes wild. A strand of his dark hair stuck to his cheek, ridiculously “Why?”

Hux huffed, lips curled “Why, what?”

Ren growled and stalked over “You KNOW.”

Hux sighed. Unlaced his hands and let them fall passively to his side “Because, I need you. And you need me.”

Ren didn’t so much as consider it “I don’t NEED you.” He spat, disbelieving. Hux raised an eyebrow.

“The First Order is in shambles.” He began “Our enemies laugh at us and our allies doubt us. Your Mother’s pathetic little scramble of Resistance rebels decimated our entire operations. And our Supreme Leader is dead.”

He raised a palm, cutting Ren off “Yes, yes. And long live the Supreme Leader.” He drew himself up “You may have powers incomparable, but you have no clue how to run a Supremacy.”

Ren scoffed. But was listening “And you do.”

“I already was, wasn’t I?” Hux scowled “What did that malingering, wrinkled old man in a bathrobe ever do but spout tripe and dictate vague orders from behind his precious holo-generator?”

Surprisingly, Ren opened his mouth, and laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, more like a bark. But it was genuine. Hux found himself oddly caught by it. 

Ren stepped closer “But why you, General...?” 

Indeed. Why him, and not some other trussed up, drooling sycophant, ready to lick the new Supreme Leader’s shapely feet...? 

Boldly, blood ringing in his ears, Hux reached up and plucked that wayward strand of dark hair from Ren’s cheek, tucking it behind an overlarge ear “That’s simple, Ren.” He said, quietly, gesturing behind him “I know what you need.”

Ren looked at him as though he was actually seeing him for the first time. After what felt like an eternity, he inclined his head. A nod. 

Hux grinned, and rubbed his palms together “Excellent. Now, first things first. We need to sort out that kriffing hairstyle of yours.”

Kylo Ren blinked, and felt an inexplicable pinprick of dread settle in the pit of his stomach.


	4. Composition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am blessed by your comments! Keep them coming, I love to hear your feedback. BTW I am a Kylux foetus/new gen writer, so if anybody spots any canon non-compliance, etc, please do let me know. 
> 
> This chapter! The boys do eachother's hair and have feelings. No, really. 
> 
> Hux's new do: bit.ly/2CgvOtd (because Domnhall is beautiful and that gel has gotta go).
> 
> Bonus Bowlcut!Ben because I find it hilarious: bit.ly/2lfg1To

“Stop SQUIRMING, Ren.”

“Get that thing away from my face!”

“Oh, for the love of-“

“The man’s hands are TREMBLING! He’s going to cut my kriffing ear off!”

Hux sighed, and snatched the duo-bladed vibro clippers from the pale, thin fingers of the terrified barber “Well, perhaps they wouldn’t be if you didn’t keep snapping at him like a horny mud-crocodile!”

Ren had been in somewhat of a docile haze since receiving his gift, but sadly, that phase hadn’t lasted long. After some significant manhandling and the summoning of the finest barber the fleet had to offer, he was back to sulking, huffing, and generally puffing once again.

Hux made a mental note to find out whether Ren craved sweet treats, and if he could be bribed for trifling things with them....positive reinforcement, and all that. 

For Palpatine’s sake, it was just a kriffing HAIRCUT. 

His most Supreme and Cherished Leader sneered at him via his reflection in the mirror, and threw the protective ivory bib from his shoulders, enraged “This is pointless.”

Without thinking, Hux pressed his palms to Ren’s shoulders and coaxed him to sit again “This is necessary.” The bones beneath his fingers creaked and the muscles coiled, heaving ominously. Hux was reminded, alarmingly, of a giant snake “Let me ask you something: I can only deduce from the tragic loss of that chrome bucket you called a helmet, that you want to be SEEN, now....?”

Ren’s reflection scowled at him, promising death “....yes.”

Hux nodded, placating. There, there. His thumbs pressed infinitesimally against the dip of Ren’s shoulder blades “Good. Snoke gained nothing hiding away like a coward. A vague sense of mystery, perhaps. Look what good it did him.” He removed his hands as Ren began to note them “As Supreme Leader, how do you wish to be perceived, Ren?”

The question seemed to catch the man sideways. He deflated, then re-inflated with a rattle of lungs. His eyes flitted down to his own hands, curling and uncurling them. The shimmering blow of infinite stars were caught and refracted in the mirror around his head. 

“I want people to fear me.” He said, finally, voice low and, for once, steady. Hux suppressed a shudder “Admire me. Respect me. Worship me.” 

Something prickled and congealed deep in Hux’ gut. A deep seated sense of tightening, and heat. He licked his lips “I know the feeling.” He soothed. Let a moment of oddly peaceful quiet pass between them.

“And your powers indeed demand respect. But presently? You look like a crazed backwater hermit-monk dipped in tar.”

Like a Jedi, was left unsaid. So much for their uneasy peace. It hung between them in midair, explosive, singing like a tripped wire. Ren’s eyes had once again become opaque black, and his teeth flashed. 

“General.” He seethed, jaw set “Has anybody ever told you that you’re an utter nag?”

Hux blinked, irritated “Yes.” He clucked his tongue and resisted the urge to cuff Ren upside his stupid, fluffy head “Don’t deflect. You’re going to have meet people. Pompous people, rich people. Nostalgic, flatulent Republicans. Trussed-up arms dealers craving the good ole’ days and a fuck from a lithe Twi’lek. Understand?” 

He paled, horror dawning as he suddenly remembered the social calendar lineup for this quadrasec “Tarkin's ghost save me. You’re going to have to attend Tarquinn Geld’s engagement party next week.”

Caught in a barrage of imagined horror-scenarios of spilt drinks and poisoned canapés, he barely registered Ren’s grumping resuming “Diplomacy and politics are beneath me.”

Hmph. Ren was no doubt recalling his pompous and unsavoury childhood trailing his Senator Mother.

Ren’s head snapped about, at an almost impossible angle, to glare at him directly “I thought that’s what you were here for?! I’m not going to any – parties.”

Hux steepled his hands and trialed counting silently to ten. For kriff’s sake. How old was Ren supposed to be, again...? Only four or five years his junior, supposedly. 

Pride swallowed and quashed, Hux replied with steely gentleness “I am not the Supreme Leader.” His lips flickered with the shadow of a smirk “However, if you don’t feel up to the task....abdication is always an option.”

“Shut up, Hux.”

....was Ren POUTING...?

The general stared his royal tantrumness down, levelly “The First Order needs money. We need arms, we need men, and we need a fearsome, unchallengable reputation.” Ren looked away, teeth gritted “The blow the Resistance dealt us is intolerable. Can’t you hear it....?” Hux’ own teeth clacked, now, livid “The way the lowly scum creep and whisper about us in their cantinas and castles?”

Ren looked up at him, then. Their eyes caught in the mirror and for once, their ire was shared. Directed outward, railing at the lurid dark beyond the fibreglass window. How dare they. How DARE they. They will see, they will ALL see-

“You wish to rule the galaxy, do you not?” Hux said, softly. Silken. The words slipped between them and unravelled, expanding. 

“Yes.” Ren replied, quickly. He leaned forward, bench creaking, as though he could grasp his victory in that very moment. Just reach out, and take it “That, and so much more.”

Hux nodded, satisfied, and picked up the vibroblade clippers “Well, then. Let me help you, you hulking oaf.”

Ren looked at him almost witheringly, and Hux was impressed “I could still kill you.”

Hux laughed his short, sharp bark “Most dear and sweet Supreme Leader, I thought we were past all this.” He stepped in front of Ren, sizing up the contours of his hair “Come. I’ll just neaten the edges. What do you normally cut this mop with, surely not your lightsaber?”

The Knight of Ren scoffed, and rolled his eyes “Not likely. That gives you split ends.”

....so he had tried it, then. Hux leered smugly at the mental image of a juvenile Ren with jug ears squeaking as he cradled the sizzling ends of his hair. The current Ren gave him a mildly perturbed look, and Hux checked himself.

Mind-reader, he reprimanded himself. Kriffing mind reader. Play nice. 

“Perish the thought.” He said, flatly “Now, hold still. Clear your mind, and all that rot.”

To his immense surprise, Ren let his narrowed eyes slip closed, and inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. Laid loosely curled fists upon his knees and drew his shoulders back. Waiting.

Hux’ brain took a moment to catch up. After a long, awkward moment, he grabbed a bone-comb with intricate carvings from Ren’s table. No doubt it was some ancient Sith comb of doom, strong enough to tame the most force-sensitive and defiant of locks. 

He placed the comb in the centre of Ren’s skull, and carved a long, straight line with a practiced hand. The seam of his leather gloves caught against the surprisingly thin fibres, and he pursed his lips. Tutted and swiftly tugged them from his fingers with his teeth. The offending leather garments plopped to the floor like fat rats. 

He was surprised to find that Ren’s hair was warm beneath his fingers. For some reason, he had always expected the man to be deathly cold, like a cadaver. As he traced long, slow sweeps through the dark waves, he could almost feel the beat of blood in Ren’s head. Slow, calm. Steady.

The fine hairs rose on the back of Ren’s neck, and he shivered just slightly as the teeth of the comb scraped against his skull.

....he was enjoying this.

Hux had a sudden inkling of doing this before. The hair had been longer, titian red. The air had smelt damp and powdery, not vacant and dry, as it was here.

Exhaling, Hux set the comb down, and retrieved the vibroblade. Eyed the pale columns of Ren’s exposed neck, and thought – how easy. Surely this was a test. Ren’s face was slack, serene. Unmoving.

He teased a long lock of hair between his fingers, forming a straight line, and began to sear the shaggy ends quickly and efficiently. Just two thumbs-worth, or so. He knew how vain Ren was about his kriffing luscious locks.

Once he’d done a full circle of Ren’s skull, he dusted the wispy casualties from the Supreme Leader’s enormous shoulders, feeling oddly satisfied. 

He paused, and when Ren only continued to breath, he pondered. Some traditional Arkanesian coil-plaits, perhaps...? Anything to draw the curtains of hair back from Ren’s face and make him look slightly older than nineteen rotations. 

“No braids.” Ren growls, low and sudden, eyes still closed “Filthy rattails.”

Eavesdropping son of a - princess, Hux fumed. Aloud, he huffed “Very well.” 

The barber levered himself off the wall and cleared his throat softly, approaching with a tray of vastly varied hairpieces, clips, sliders and the like. Hux eyed them with distaste. Ren was NOT elaborate. He was rough, coarse, and irritating (where had he heard that before...?) and poked his overlarge nose into everything. That, in some ways, was a good thing.

He shuddered, repulsed. Just who was taming who, here...? Careful.

After a long deliberation he plucked a simple, pure silverite rounded clip from the tray. Like a warrior’s cuff. It would suit Ren well. He dug his nails into the scalp just above Ren’s ears, and dragged the upper portion of his hair up into a tail, then caught the clip neatly around it.

Half high-tail, half cocked bun. It looked – adequate “There.”

Ren’s eyes snapped open. He turned his head slowly left, then right. Rhythmic as a droid. He frowned, and tugged two symmetrical strands free to sit just over his ears.

Hux frowned. Was....was Ren self-conscious about...? Interesting. He filed that away for review, later. 

“Your turn.”

Hux blinked dumbly “Beg pardon?”

Ren had stood up, at some point. Was grinning down at him malice playing at his lips “If the First Order needs to project a new image so badly...” he raised the vibroblade and gave it a good, long, ominous buzzzzzz, mid-air “You should also comply. General.”

NO. No, no no no no, no. Hux swallowed, gathering his composure “Is that an order, Supreme Leader?”

He might have croaked, a little. 

Ren’s teeth flashed like sabres in the dark “Yes.”

He raised the device. Hux raised a frantic palm “Now wait just a-! What exactly are you going to do with me!?”

Hux had a sudden image of himself, bald as an egg, the laughing stock of the bridge. He swiftly wished for a sudden cardiac arrest. 

Ren was gesturing to the crown of his own head “Longer, up here.” He tapped his forehead “Swept, down here.” He used both hands to gesture to each side of his head “Short, here.”

....Hux frowned, slowly. That sounded distinctly like the abominable military-cut his Father had enforced during his time in the acad- wait a moment. 

Ren was smirking. He KNEW. He’d plucked it directly from his most excruciating memories. Hux found himself seriously re-evaluating their testy alliance and considered shoving the vibroblade in Ren’s smug face “You-! You’re doing this on purpose!”

Ren shrugged, unrepentant. Hux considered him for a long moment, then went, neatly, down on one knee, head bowed.

He could only see Ren’s boots, but he sensed he was pleased. The air felt thick, coated in something heavy and sickly sweet. Ren’s fingers grasped his chin and pushed the bone up as far as it would bend.

Hux remembered the firm sweep of gel-coated fingers across his neck, and bit back a shiver. He wondered with a rising sense of anticipation and alarm – what in Hells have I started...?

Ren was surprisingly clean and methodical. A flash of metal, a whisper of blades beside his ears. And he had gone, drawn away. Hux felt himself sway, inexplicably, to follow him “...there.”

Ren stared down at him. Hux stared up. He shook his head, and rose to his feet, brushing his shoulders and dragging a hand through his newly shorn hair. It didn’t feel – terrible.

Hux cleared his throat, feeling blood rise in his neck, suddenly feeling illicit (for no good reason! None at all!) He whirled smartly on the still cowering barber “You will repeat NOTHING of what you saw here. On pain of slow, untimely and excruciating DEATH.”

The barber swallowed, clutched at his tools, and silently vowed to defect to the Resistance at the nearest available opportunity. 

...from what he’d seen, they could all use a kriffing haircut and a damn close shave.


	5. Pyrrhic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Seeing as everyone is so concerned for our dear barber, let me assure you, he fled the FO and now runs a modest beach-bar on Dantoine II.
> 
> RIP, Phasma #GwendolineDeservedBetter. Now, it's about time for some ACTION!

“I need you to do something for me.”

The soles of Ren’s bare, spade-like feet and the curve of his knees were all that were visible between the newly polished teeth of his Vader Pod. (Not it’s official designation, of course, but that was how Hux had chosen to refer it). Deities’ knew what Ren was doing in there all day. 

Nothing....untoward....the General fervently hoped. No cleaning droid should be subjected to THAT. 

No answer. A well-worn muscle jumped in Hux’ cheek, and he checked his annoyance with a sharp inhale then exhale. He approached further, hands cupped loosely behind his back.

“....Supreme Leader?”

Several long tics of utter silence followed. Now, a vein practically danced in Hux’ temple. The sithspitting brat was IGNORING him, he was absolutely certain. 

Well. Desperate times....“Oi! Mophead!”

A low, dangerously calm voice growled “I’m meditating.”

No, truly? Hux assumed Ren slept like that, upright, with his feet folded like some ridiculous nude fountain adornment. Perhaps he did. The General himself only had two modes: awake, and unconscious. There was no inbetween. Except, perhaps, plotting. But then again – he did that all the time. He was an apt multitasker. 

Hux counted, silently, to ten. This was becoming somewhat of a habit “It’s important.”

Ren inhaled, slowly, and although Hux couldn’t see his face, he knew the little cretin was smirking “What is important to you is of little consequence to me.”

One tic, two tics, three tics, four tics- “Can you make fire?” Hux burst out, pressing a palm foolishly to the robust curve of the chamber.

Peering inside, he caught a mere cut of Ren’s face. The edge of a pink lip and the round, penetrating orb of one eye. It was open. Aha. Got you. 

“With the force. Can you make fire?” he elaborated, and saw Ren’s brow furrow minutely at the odd question. 

After several uncomfortable moments, Hux sighed, faux-disappointed “Well, if you can’t do it, that’s understandable...”

Ren snarled, pride expertly rattled, and rose to the bait “What the kriff do you want?!”

Some hours later, the General stood feet spread, boots shining like the glossy coat of thoroughbred Vertigan rhino, before a seemingly endless mass of pure white helmets. High above, banners of black and scarlet fluttered slightly in the mechanical wheeze of the vents. 

The silence was deafening. 

In the centre of the static, sterile parade, there rested an enormous, jet-black casket. Just over six and a half feet long. Although, Hux knew, the remains encased inside were crumpled. In pieces.

The eyes gazing raptly upon him need never know that, though. 

Hux set his shoulders and inhaled: this....was what he was born to do “Captain Phasma encapsulated everything that each and every one of you should strive to achieve.” A pause, as his words ricocheted like choir-song off the walls and lofty ceiling “Loyal, brilliant, strongest in all of her craft, an exemplary martyr to the First Order.”

For once, Hux did not have to construct an immense sincerity of feeling. This was all true. Phasma was one of the few creatures in this entire wretched galaxy that Hux would have rather not outlived. 

“Her loss, and the loss of every being within our ranks, should not be mourned. But celebrated.” He spread his arms, and gloved palms, wide, taking a step forward “For they have given their lives in pursuit of our cause: order. Incomparable strength.” The heels of his boots clicked, neatly, together “Peace.”

He proceeded down the long steps towards the casket, symbolically descending, ceasing to be higher, but joining with them. Their leader, their ally “Where one falls, more shall rise. The enemy yet flees before the might of our ships, our might: before YOUR might.” 

Many helmets turned, then. A renewed fervour gripped the very air “Do not falter. All that you must do to obtain victory, is to trust in your Supreme Leader. Trust in one another. Trust in yourselves-“ his lips curled “and reach out, to take it.”

The General came to a halt a respectful distance from the casket and, slowly, removed his hat, tucking it under his arm. As one, infinite arms moved to salute the silent, thoughtless object.

Hux made a silent, cold vow: you will die for this, FN-2187. You, and all traitors. Perhaps not by my hand. But by my command, you will die. 

There was a long, thick silence. And then, spun from nothingness, a blue flame ignited around the centre of the ebonywood box.

A universal inhalation. Some startled, some flinched. The General remained still, sombre. The flame reflected in his eyes. Heads turned towards the shadowy figure, stood far above them upon the plinth. 

From this angle, Ren appeared somehow even larger. Arm raised, utterly still. He was like a sentinel of the old times. 

The fire spread, licking greedily and unnaturally in perfect unison down both sides of the casket, swallowing it deeply. Despite it’s fervour, it never once dared flick beyond a certain circumference from the object, as though held by an invisible force. And, of course, it was. 

All watched, and were in awe. Hux felt his chest swell with triumph.

As the walls of the casket collapsed, splintering in upon one another, there was a sudden unearthly shriek. An enormous figure burst from the remains, chin upturned, mouth agape, shapeless and yet unmistakable: head, torso, two arms, upturned palms. Tangible made intangible, achieving Godhood.

Hux started, mouth falling open. And then, he grinned. His cheeks creaked a little at the rare sensation. Well played, Ren. 

As suddenly as the fire ignited, it was quashed out. Only ash remained.

Hux directed a sharp nod to the Colonel stationed nearest him. The woman nodded smartly, and barked to her troops to move out. A ripple effect caught the room, and broke the quiet. Excitable mutterings and the stamp of a thousand thousand feet shook the floor. 

Hux glanced up at the glass pod situated high above, where the recording droids were now converging. The captain there nodded, saluting. All went well. Everything was broadcast live across all channels. 

Elated, Hux practically bounded up the steps to Ren’s still figure, which was unmoved, watching “A most excellent display, Supreme Leader.” He exhaled, in one breath “The release and implied eternity of the spirit: magnificent touch. Truly inspirational.”

He could be imagining it, but he could have sworn that Ren was silently preening at such praise. Another interesting piece of information to file away. 

He stood to attention; for once, Ren may even have earned it “You won’t be attending the council of First Tier, I trust.”

Ren raised a withering eyebrow “...the what?”

“All senior officers of the fleet who can immediately attend are convening for a roundtable meeting.” 

Ren practically snorted, and spun on his heel “I leave that to you.” 

Many, many clics (....or was it cycles?) later, Hux pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed for the tenth time. Admiral Basra was in high spirits tonight, he mused, dryly. 

“....how do we even know Supreme Leader Snoke is truly dead?! I see no corpse! We received no official announcement!” the gigantic barrel of a man, Arkanesian, as Hux was, all grey hair and jowels, sent a spray of spittle careening across the table “Who the fething kriff is this Kylo Ren, in any case? From what I am told, he is no more than an overgrown boy with a laser sword who performs magic tricks!”

He has me there, Hux shrugged, internally. Apt description. 

A bold cleaning droid swept efficiently across the surface of the table, clearing away the saliva, it’s soft beep-boops sounding suspiciously insulting. 

Hux spread his palms. All officers, hologram or physical, regarded him with disdain “Peace, please, Admiral.” He laced his fingers atop the table in front of him “I understand your concerns. I myself witnessed said corpse, spliced clean in two and smelling exceedingly deceased. I can assure you, Snoke is very much dead.”

The back of his head gave a sudden, agonising throb. He carded his newly shorn hair, suppressing a wince.

General Pyr’rese, sat not two seats from him, stood suddenly “I agree with the Admiral! And who named you successor and right hand to this meddling Sith imposter, in any case?” she jabbed one of her three fingers accusingly at him “I demand an immediate vote to appoint a new Grand Marshall!”

There were grumblings and murmurings of assent, a few rampant ‘here, here!’s from Brendol Hux’ old cronies. Hux wished, suddenly and heartily, for a distraction.

He didn’t expect to get one.

Flickering lights winked and stuttered just beyond the enormous, curved viewport that ran the entirety of half of the room. Emerging with sudden clarity, a dozen shining, pod-like ships crashed out of hyperspace, a very short distance from the glistening hull of the Revenant.

Gun turrets dropped and turned on them like deadly teats. Hux surged to his feet, hand reaching fruitlessly for his gun.

“DOWN!!!” Hux roared, even as the cacophony of gunfire descended upon the viewport in a deadly barrage. 

Some froze. Some screamed. Some ducked, scrambling, for cover. The viewport creaked, ominously, buckling as two of the relatively small ships descended upon it with sucker-like contraptions. Hux’ blood fell to his feet.

They were being BOARDED. 

Only one species had the technology to drop from hyperspace with such pinpoint accuracy, and penetrate their shields.

“Raijin.” Hux spat. He had thought the thrice-damned fething BASTARD’S were neutral! Apparently, no longer. Perhaps that unfortunate business with their colony on Ryloth had pissed them off. 

The doors of the invading ships opened like metal beaks, and a swarm of the four-armed, scaly creatures poured from them. Abnormally tall and agile, they could grind their scales together and produce a form of static electricity. It powered their ships, their weapons. And made them kriffing hard to kill.

Without hesitating, Hux raised his plasma-rifle and blasted a clean hole straight through the warrior to his left “To arms, you useless kriffing CANON FODDER!   
Fight back!”

A few of the younger officer’s took potshots, but these were beings of pomp and privilege. Most of the old guard had battled their way upwards with prestige and politics. They were not soldiers, not really. 

A Raijin warrior raised his gun and fired back at Hux. The General snarled, snatched the collar of a nearby Colonel and dragged his torso in front of his own. The man died, gargling and boneless as an orb of pure energy carved a burnt crater in his chest. 

The Raijin were forming a firing line, Hux noted suddenly, stomach calm but chest gone cold. They were forming a line, raising their guns. He glanced quickly about. The control panels to the exits had been fried, destroyed.

There was little to no cover. 

....kark it. He turned the power control on his rifle to it’s highest setting, gritted his teeth, and was not afraid. He’d been expecting to die for as long as he could remember. This was nothing. THEY were nothing. He was not going to die here. 

As one, the Raijin opened fire.

Afterwards, nobody could say that they even saw Ren enter. He was simply – not there, one moment, and then there, the next. Hux himself noticed first. He blinked, and suddenly, there was nothing but an expanse of black before his eyes. 

For a tic, he concluded he was dead. But then he winced and squinted in the wall of chattering, blinding LIGHT before him, and raised a palm, shielding his pained pupils.

Kylo Ren stood, arm outstretched. Before him, the line of warriors stood frozen, weapons cocked. Enormous balls of energy were caught, floating gently, in a static barrage of certain death. It was utterly beautiful. 

Hux felt, rather than saw Ren smile. And then he let his hand fall. 

The smell actually hit before the noise did. Burnt flesh, burnt scales. A glorious orchestra of agony, of lives scuffed, scorched from where they stood in less than a moment. Hux staggered to his feet, brow damp, and realised he was laughing. 

In the cacophony of death, Hux glanced to his side and saw Basra cowering not two feet behind him. He ducked down, and snatched the dropped weapon of a nearby Raijin warrior, discreetly discharging it into the Admiral’s shiny face. 

Ren’s chin turned just slightly. He, also, was smiling. 

The light died. Behind it, the ships were already specs, bursting hurriedly into oblivion, fleeing. 

Somebody coughed. The officers scrambled up, groaning, some injured, some unscathed. All stared in wonder and terror at the expanse of Ren’s back. Not that he would ever admit it – but perhaps – Hux did, too.

Ren turned, slowly, to face them. His eyes appeared black “....I trust this little....display, will suffice.” His voice was hoarse. Merciless.

Hux swiftly dropped to one knee, inclining his head. Others hastily followed “It will, Supreme Leader.” Hux intoned, clearly “No need for anymore....demonstrations. We are all deeply satisfied in your ability to lead us.”

There was a soft, harsh sound from the back of Ren’s throat. Leather fingertips grazed his chin, lingering, before dragging Hux’ head up.

Teeth, and lips. They were all Hux could see as Ren said, clearly “I leave the rest to you, Grand Marshall.”

And he was, once again, gone.


	6. Coalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The plot thinnens! In this installment, the boys get mad drunk. Or rather, Hux gets mad drunk, and Ren is amused.

Hux caught up to Ren just as the turbo-lift’s doors were gliding closed. He abruptly slammed his heel into the left-hand side door, wincing as the metal bit into the leather of his pristine boots. That would bruise. 

He stepped neatly over the threshold and bent slightly to key in a few override commands on the lift controls. The doors slammed shut, as though snapping to attention.

There was no following rumble of mechanisms stirring. The lift neither rose nor fell. Ren opened his mouth, brow furrowed and expression accusing.  


Hux curled the pale spindle of his fingers harshly in Ren’s thick black collar, and slammed their lips together in a bruising kiss.  


Well. It was more of a clumsy assault, than a kiss. Kisses were for starry-eyed heroines at the climax of some pastel-hued holovid boxset. No. Hux was not a man who kissed. He was a man who took. Blood sang in his ears, every corner of his body alight with feeling. It felt something like rage, but it was pure. A scream of white noise, howling: yes, yes, yes. 

Their teeth clacked together and Ren let out a disgruntled huff. Hux smirked, dragged Ren’s lower lip between his incisors, and bit down until he tasted copper.  


The scaffolding of Ren’s shoulders shuddered. He growled, and Hux felt it reverberating inside his skull. At some point Ren’s paws had groped for Hux’ pelvis, snarling like stone claws around the curves of the Marshall’s hipbones. As though he was fumbling to pilot controls, Hux mused, and smirked. Ren’s lips were startlingly smooth, and he tasted like ash, and spice. 

...and some kind of fruit. Corellian crab-pears...?

He drew back slowly, and dragged his knuckles across his own lips. A froth of blood and spittle smeared across the otherwise unmarred leather. He wrinkled his nose, but somehow, couldn’t scrub the maniacal grin from his face. 

His palms found Ren’s collar again “I’ve saved an exceptionally rare case of Twi’ilekian Blood Brandy for this day.” He cuffed the answering congeal of blood from Ren’s chin, agitated “Come. We’ll celebrate.”

Ren followed him. Silent, dumb, lamblike: but Hux was not deceived. He assumed if he had so much as a teaspoon of force sensitivity he would be able to FEEL the turmoil of Ren’s thoughts and feelings, lashing wildly inside his head. 

He had caught the man off guard. He doubted he’d be afforded the same luxury again. 

But then – even if Ren had seen it coming (and Hux wasn’t even certain he himself had) what could be possibly have to fear from Hux...? Even without the force, he was no physical match for the Knight. Even armed with a blade or gun, he was certain a conscious Ren would be able to counter him. 

Hells, Hux could probably hold a gun right up to his temple-

“I could.”

Hux startled, and realised they had arrived at the door to his quarters. He scowled up at the hulking shadow to his left. Uncomfortably near. He could feel hot breath on the shell of his left ear and the nape of his neck.

Ren smirked the smirk that usually premeditated death “I have practised being fired at. Even at point blank range. The shot blew apart in the chamber. Half of the boy’s face came off.”

....boy? Interesting. A rare glimpse into Ren’s...what was it? Jedi training? Jedi academy of creepy celibate freaks?

“I’M not celibate.” Ren said, very emphatically. Hux fixed him with a withering look “Evidently not. And quit your eavesdropping, you nosy skrog. It’s terribly bad manners.”

Hux entered the passcode and swept into the familiar lull of his quarters. It was mostly empty space. 

Efficient touches were tucked away, in corners, along walls. Nail clippers, toothbrush. His vanity, of course. A large glass case of exotic alcohol, folded discreetly behind his desk. The only personal touch was a neat stack of twelve or so rare, actual books. 

Ren tossed his head like a stallion, sniffing about, before making a beeline for the books. Hux snorted “....make yourself at home.”

He tugged his greatcoat from his shoulders and replaced it in his closet, keying the door closed, then padded over to the drinks cabinet. 

“1000 Lethal Species.” Ren read aloud, trailing his greasy paws all over Hux’ tomes. He frowned “L...L’art de la guerre?” he scowled, butchering the foreign words clumsily “That’s not basic.”

“No. It’s High Arkanesian.” Hux uncorked the brandy with a hearty POP, and set two stemless cut-glass tumblers on his desk “The Art of War, loosely translated.” 

His forename had always sounded less trite on his Mother’s tongue, he mused, remembering. Aer-mee-targe.

“Armitage.” Ren echoed, suddenly, rolling the syllables over his tongue like salted butter. 

Hux very nearly dropped the bottle, mid-pour. He shot Ren a look that could rend flesh “Never, ever utter that word in my presence ever again, Ren, or this alliance will be null.”

Ren blinked, and looked almost penitent. Almost.

Hux tossed a good two-thumbs worth of brandy down his throat “Ah!” he smacked his lips, grinning “An immensely rare vintage. It was made from the bloodbend grape on Twi’ilek, during a Summer of crippling drought. Crops were devastated.” He eagerly poured two more glasses “It’s said the vineyard owner of this particular beverage barricaded himself behind high walls and used precious water to feed his vines, rather than distributing any to the dead and dying.”

Hux smirked lovingly at the scarlet swirl of liquid in his glass “They eventually broke in and cut all his limbs off, of course, but. You have to admire the man’s dedication.” 

“What are these?”

Ren had wandered off to examine the small glass case set into an indent in Hux’ closet unit. In it, the air thrummed gently with tropic heat, and minute, slimy flashes of light blinked amongst dense foliage.

Hux brought both glasses over and pressed one into Ren’s open palm “Rylothian jewel frogs. Do be careful. The wax on their skin is a hundred times more deadly than a sarlak sting.” Ren side-eyed him, mildly alarmed. Hux shrugged and took a long draught of his drink “I like poisonous things. I had an entire collection of plants and other deadly curiosities, on the Finaliser.”

Ren threw his head back quite suddenly and laughed, deep and harsh, delighted “You are a truly vile man, Hux.”

“Mm.” Hux tipped their glasses together with a sharp clink “Here. Salut.”

....six....seven? Was it seven? Perhaps it was eight drinks later, and Hux had discovered a great deal of things. Most prominently, that Ren liked to be touched. Moreover, Ren LOVED to be touched. It unspun some deep tension in him and leeched the pallor from his waxy skin. And also – ALSO! Hux liked to touch Ren. Hux liked touching Ren, a lot.

...he may have perhaps indulged himself a little too greedily in the brandy, but – kark it.

The newly anointed Grand Marshall noted with a muted sense of alarm that they had somehow wound up together on his lounger. Ren sat perfectly appropriately, the soles of his feet on the floor, spine resting firmly against the back of the lounger. Hux, on the other hand, had somehow lost his boots and socks, and was sat sideways, his legs slung over Ren’s thighs.

(Like slabs of MARBLE, Drunk Hux noted, aghast).

The muscles in his calves twitched. Ren was tracing a lazy circle around the bones of his left ankle with his fingers. His other palm lay flat and impossibly heavy over Hux’ upper knee. The Marshall swallowed, and tossed back another drink.

“-so I said to Phasma – I SAID-“ he continued, barely slurring (honest) “...what did I say? Ah, yes. I said to Phasma, why waste ammunition?! Just leave the Baron in the cesspool!”

Ren’s eyes were a rare mahogany brown: light with amusement “You’re drunk.”

Hux prodded an accusatory finger in Ren’s soft cheek “Yes. You’re not. Enough. Yet. Drink some more.” He poured Ren another glass, the liquid sloshing a little “Let me guess....the force counters the effects...?”

Ren chuckled. He didn’t know Ren could chuckle. So many discoveries, this evening “Not exactly.”

The Knight’s nostrils flared. He curled his forefinger and thumb around Hux’ ankle. The fleshy pads met, with a loose grip “You’re so – small.”

Hux rolled his eyes. This was news? “Yes. Fortunately I have always been thus, and so never had any grand delusions of becoming a fisticuff brawler.” He waved a dramatic hand, forgetting it was the one holding his glass “Why waste time and energy being something one isn’t...?”

Ren’s eyes widened. Hux blinked at him, confused. What? What had he said? 

Ren snapped from his reverie and slid his palms crawlingly up the length of Hux’ left leg. He lifted his knee, and tried to make another fleshy circle around the Marshall’s upper thigh. He couldn’t quite reach. He squeezed, slowly. Hux repressed a shudder with some effort. 

“I could snap you like a twig.” Ren concluded blatantly. 

“Oh, certainly.” Hux cocked an eyebrow “But I’ll be impressed if you find a bone that hasn’t already been broken. Somewhere in my inner ear, perhaps.”

Ren’s fingers clenched and then unclenched, in an odd massage-like vice. Hux was uncertain what it was supposed to convey. Perhaps Ren didn’t know, either. 

“....what else can you do?” Hux asked, eventually, breaking the silence.

“Hm?” Ren muttered, distractedly, still examining Hux’ legs. 

“The fire. The – mindreading kark. There must be limits to the force.”

Ren didn’t look up at him “None that I know of.”

“So, then: anything...?”

“Anything.”

“Anything, and everything?”

“Anything, and everthing.”

Hux grinned. This was becoming an appalling habit “Show me.” Ren shot him a judgemental look, as if to say, what, exactly, Heathen “Don’t act obtuse. Show me a magic trick.”

His Mother would do magic for him. Not true magic, of course, but she could produce a cobalt swan-egg from behind her ear, and make a thruppence disappear, and even summon a sparrow. 

“You liked magic as a child.”

Hux cuffed Ren upside the head, and realised he was becoming dangerously complacent – or perhaps it was the brandy “I said, stop snooping!” he huffed “You didn’t? No, what am I saying – of course you didn’t. Well?” he jiggled his foot, impatiently “I’m waiting.”

Ren snatched the tumbler from Hux’ lax fingers. Hux squawked, and made a following grab, but Ren hushed him. Released the glass object and it hung, motionless, in the air before Hux’ nose. 

He snorted, unimpressed. But then, slowly, something began to unfurl from within the liquid. Threads. Long threads of – something, different colours, different textures. They separated and writhed, lazily, like scarves. 

“Ethanol.” Ren murmured, gesturing to an almost translucent thread “Distilled bloodbend grape.” The heavier, burgundy pulp “Cinna spice, saffron.” 

Hux watched Ren, stomach warm and skin prickling, as he continued to list ingredients, eyes utterly intent and with immense concentration.

He leaned in slowly, and flicked the tip of his tongue against the large bow of Ren’s right ear. 

Ren startled hard, and the tumbler crashed into his lap, ingredients spattering all over Hux’ trousers. He tutted, wryly “Really, Ren. That was exquisitely expensive.”

Ren’s face turned grey and his ears turned puce. He snarled, thighs bucking beneath Hux’ bones as he went to stand. Hux smirked, and slid quickly to sit astride Ren’s enormous thighs “Now, now.” He tapped a fingernail against Ren’s pursed lips “Don’t pout.”

“I do NOT, pout!” the giant roared, incensed. The Marshall slipped his elbows about Ren’s neck loosely, and soothed “Of course not, most cherished Supreme Leader.” 

He waited for Ren to deflate. It took quite some time. Once it was safe to do so, Hux began combing his fingers lazily through Ren’s loose hair.  


“Something has occurred to me.” He murmured, sobering. Ren made a quiet, disinterested noise, evidently distracted. 

“The Raijen.” Ren’s eyes flitted up to meet his “That was no accident. They were targeting every senior officer of the First Order. They knew the location, time, and further details of the meeting.”

The Knight’s palms slid from laying awkward and angry against Hux’s knees, to encircling and squeezing his hipbones once again “We have a traitor.”  


We, Hux thought, his throat dry. We, indeed. Ren’s thumbs dug sharply into Hux’ skin, bruising it. The Marshall only nodded. 

“We have a traitor.” He echoed “And a rather senior one, at that. Clearance for the meeting was Critical. That’s only Colonels, or above.” He shifted slightly, sitting back a little in Ren’s grip “Furthermore, the summons was only issued six quadra-clics ago.”

The Supreme Leader digested this information, jaw jumping with that now familiar rage. Hux smoothed the hair back from Ren’s temple unthinkingly, and wondered, not for the first or last time that night, just what in Hells he was doing. 

“I hope you have stamina enough for a round of interrogations tomorrow, Supreme Leader.” He said, lowly, recapturing the man’s attention.

The Knight’s grip tightened, and he snarled “I have plenty of stamina.”

Hux butted his forehead against Ren’s, and leaned in “Show me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm off to Paris now my loves, so no update for a few days. Bonne annee!


	7. Parasite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I would love to hear any predictions my dear readers have about my endgame, or how the boys got to be in the mess outlined in the prologue. I keep dropping hints! 
> 
> This chapter, Hux regrets everything, and both the boys get what they want.

Hux awoke to coarse fingertips laced loosely over the tendons of his throat, and his tongue so dry and furry it felt like a womprat had curled up and died in his mouth. Blood pounded in his temples reprovingly, and his stomach churned, acrid. Oh, fething hells...

Hungover. He was HUNGOVER. How could he have allowed this-

The suspiciously solid pillow beneath his cheek rose, steadily, then fell. With a universal sense of vertigo, the Marshall repressed the urge to vomit, scramble for an exit, or both. Instead, he peeked his eyes open.

There was a horizon of pale, smooth skin in front of him. It curved like cut bone, and Hux gradually pieced together that it was Ren’s jawline. His own nose was tucked behind Ren’s jug-like left ear, aggressively nestled in the nest of the man’s hair. He inhaled, slowly. Ren must use some kind of amber-dust based lotion, if the rich, honeyed smell crawling up his nostrils was any indication. 

Gingerly, the Marshall rose on his elbow. Ren’s left arm was curled around Hux’ back and across his belly like a stony vice. His right thumb was pressed harshly to the thrust of Hux’ jugular vein. The knight’s long fingers splayed out, hefty and over-warm, curling ominously around his neck. 

The Marshall waited, expectantly. Ren’s nostril’s flared, he emitted a soft huff, and curled his arm tighter. Hux exhaled sharply, pitching forward hard, back onto Ren’s torso. He gritted his teeth, biting back a smirk. 

Not meditating, not at all. Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren and Supreme Leader of the First Order, was asleep. And clutching his subordinate like a Pandoran comfort-plush.

...how very sweet, Hux thought, dryly. He reached up and brushed the tips of Ren’s eyelashes unthinkingly, disordering them. Like fat, lush spiders, he mused, nose wrinkling. 

~Take him.~

It was like a supernova exploded behind his eyes.

Everything was WHITE. Hot, red, a howl of sensation and noise, screaming, who the Hells was SCREAMING, shutupshutupshutup- 

“-x!”

His throat was ragged and raw. It had been him, he was the one who had screamed. He dug his nails into his closed eyeballs and let out a sob, his skull tight against his scalp, pushing, pushing, PUSHING. There were a thousand needles in his veins, and it hurt, everything HURT.

“-ux?! Hux! You WILL answer me!”

Cool palms on his cheeks, rigid and stern. He dragged in a breath, lances of agony spearing into his brain and burrowing, like ember ants. He was shivering. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

A voice in his head. A voice in his HEAD. He threw the hands from his face with frantic, wild energy “Stay the kriff out of my HEAD you heaving savage!!!”

He reeled back and tore away from the vicelike arms that were grabbing for him. He could see, now, the spin of lights and the muggy grey of the carpet, tipped dizzyingly sideways beneath his knees. The arms curled tightly around his waist and squeezed.

Ren’s chest was flush to his back, and a voice growled hotly in his ear “Stop that.”

“No!” Hux resisted the urge to snatch the bare forearms encasing his middle and BITE them “Unhand me, immediately! At ONCE!”

Ren exhaled, biceps contracting “Stop struggling. You’re being pathetic.”

That word. That word cut through the chaos, leaving a cold, fresh, remembered wound in his chest. He slumped, panting, cold sweat crawling down his temples. His ankles bowed at an odd angle, his limbs fell about like a puppets.

After a moment of nothing but breathing, his own, frantic stutters, and Ren’s erratic huffs, Hux gritted out “Get. OUT.”

“Let me see.” If Hux had been paying any kind of attention, he would have noted the odd tenor of Ren’s voiced, and found it fascinating “Don’t resist me. That will hurt.”

Hux felt something icy cold and intangible push against his aching skull. He groaned, squirming fruitlessly. Ren chuckled. But not aloud. 

~Don’t be such a baby.~ The words seemed to echo, though there was no physical space to do so. Aloud, Ren murmured against the shell of his ear “Hush, now.”  


Hux didn’t know if his eyes were open or closed. He felt a sense of enforced calm sweeping from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. His breathing smoothed out into a mechanical evenness. Everything was alright. The voice told him so. He was told to be quiet, and so he was. 

After what felt like an eternity, Ren released him. Turned him and set him back, propped against the reassuring solidity of his desk “Congratulations, Marshall. That’s quite an impressive force wound.”

Hux blinked, clarity seeping back into his rent mind “....force....wound.” he repeated, dumbly. Then frowned. 

Ren licked his lips slowly, eyes flicking with muted intensity over Hux’ face “Mm.” Then, half statement, half question “From Snoke.”

Hux shuddered, drawing his knees up and pressing his slick palms against his knees. He recalled the many sessions of uncomfortable probing, and yes, occasional torture the Supreme Leader had meted out against him. Force wound. Like a scar, within the mind. Yes, he supposed. If the force could have physical autonomy, surely it could leave a physical mark. 

Ren’s gaze was boring into his, frowning, lips turned down in a reversed cupid’s bow. It looked ridiculous. It looked uncomfortably like- “Well where else would I have gotten it from, Ren, you?! Unless you’re hiding a dozen more psychopathic force-toddlers under that skirt?” 

For once, the knight ignored his jibe. His fists were curling, his shoulders heaving. The ominous shivers that preceded the inevitable quake “I don’t like it.” He growled, lowly “I don’t like it – being there.”

Well that sounded – oddly possessive. Hux turned that concept over in his head, weighing it. And decided to nurture the impulse. Why not? He was already being kept.

He nodded. Shuffled forward til he was sat between the valley of Ren’s knees “Can you remove it?”

“I think so. If I remove the memory of it.” Ren replied, thoughtful. His fingers carded and curled in the now short hairs at the crown of Hux’ head, in a gesture that would have been tender from someone, anyone, but them “Hold still. I’ve never done this before.”

Hux’ mouth fell open “What-!!”

...he was on the floor. Why was he on the floor...? Lying flat on the floor. On his back. Carpet...ceiling. Where was he...? His quarters? Ah, yes. The brandy. And Ren. Ren, staring down at him with intent, dark eyes like shining rapeseeds “....Ren. Why am I on the floor?”

For a very long moment, the knight did not reply. Then he said, slowly “You pulled me down here.”

Hux blinked “I did?”

“You did.”

“Ah.” Yes, of course he did. And he had a damn good reason to do so. It was – it was...

“...how do you feel?”

Ren posed the question in a cold, oddly delicate manner. Hux sat up, wincing “Kriffing awful. Fetch me some water, you useless lump.” 

His Supreme Leader shot him a look like soured blue milk “What? It’s not like you have to move to get it.” Hux gave Ren’s chest a solid shove, then clambered back on top of him, settling his pelvis against the man’s thighs “Lay back. Move.”

His body felt- heavy, but his mind...felt...alive. Scrubbed. Jittery, like it was crawling with insects.

Below him, he could have sworn he heard Ren mutter “...took too much.”

Hux’s head snapped up and he hissed “What was that?” 

Ren just shook his head. His fingers found Hux’ neck again, absently. His fingertips and thumb twitched against the skin there, flitting back and forth. It was dangerously close to a caress. 

“I assume from our mutual state of dress that we didn’t...engage in carnal relations last night.” Hux said, conversationally. 

The knight went an excruciating shade of magenta, then replied mockingly “....carnal relations?” 

“Shut up.” The Marshall had been trying to tread delicately. So much for that “Well?” he demanded. 

Ren snorted “No, we did not ‘have carnal relations.’” Hux scowled as Ren curled his lips around Hux’ accent, making fun of his clipped intonations “You got drunk, grabbed my-“ Hux rolled his eyes; cock, Ren, come now, we’re both adults (occasionally) “Then passed out. And drooled. And snored.”

Hux sniffed, disdainful, and flicked his palm dismissively “Flagrant lies.” 

Quiet. Hux tipped his head, tracing the long, dark seam in Ren’s tunic over his chest “Jedi don’t fuck, then.”

Ren rolled one shoulder enormously “No. But I-“ his tongue darted out to wet his lips “I’ve done – things.”

“Things.” Hux drawled, echoing him. 

He settled his chin on Ren’s chest and shifted his hips, sliding up between Ren’s thighs. Ren startled, and growled softly “I have a vague recollection of complimenting you on being in excellent proportion, Ren.” It may have been more along the lines of ‘my what a big dick you have, Supreme Leader,’ but Hux chose to edit his recollections with a healthy dose of rose-tint “Between your legs if not between your ears.”

He unbuckled the simple slide of metal about Ren’s waist, and slid the flaps of material back. Ren exhaled, slowly, spine cracking “It’s forbidden.” His teeth dug into his lower lip “For a Jedi.”

“But not a Sith.”

“I am NOT a Sith.”

“A Knight of Ren, then.” Hux said, dismissively. He tossed the belt and traced Ren’s hardening length “Surely Snoke did not forbid it.”

Ren’s chest caved, breath stuttering harshly “Not expressly.” He exhaled “The layman’s understanding of Light and Dark is bantha fodder. It’s more complicated than two extremes.” Hux raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Ren chose NOW for a lecture? “Jedi’s emphasise control and Sith, release. But neither exclusively.”

Hux stared his Supreme Leader down, flatly “I glean from this long and barely enlightening speech that you’re a virgin.”

Ren snarled “I’ve-“

“Done things.” Hux traced Ren through the harsh knots of material “Yes. No matter, it bears no consequence anymore.” Whomever, and however another creature had had Ren in the past, was irrelevant. 

All that mattered was that Ren was his, now. Proud, bashful, intolerable Ren. 

He dug his left thumb into Ren’s pelvis, irritated, as he searched for some kind of – opening, to these blasted things “....do you stitch yourself into these ridiculous leggings?!” finally, his fingertips found something small, metal and crooked “Aha. Hooks. Truly, Knight of Ren?”

“I will see you first.”

The words fell heavily like rainfall. Hux cocked an eyebrow, curious “Oh, will you.”

Ren’s eyes were dark “Yes.”

Hux hummed. He slid his already loose jacket from his shoulders, exposing a neat, ivory vest with a low collar “As my Supreme Leader commands.”

He reached for the twin buckles and elastic that stretched from his waist, over his shoulders to his lower back. Ren snatched his wrists, suddenly “Wait.” 

Simultaneously, the clips snapped open, and both lengths of springy twine snapped through the air like braided whips. The sharp edge of one caught Hux’ chin. He ignored it, feeling it sting and well-up, forlornly “More parlour tricks.”

“Shut up.” Ren leaned up, set his teeth against Hux’ chin, and suckled on the cut, slowly. Hux swallowed, felt his own face grow hot “You’re pale.”

“So are you.”

Ren’s palms soothed over Hux’ shoulders, dappled with clusters of freckles. He loathed them. Sun kisses, his Mother had said. Kisses had always stung Hux “Dotted all over.”

“So are you. Although mine are far more uniform than yours.” His were like moss clinging to a damp rock. The absurd mess of Ren’s seemed almost – like  
constellations.

Ren slid his teeth over to latch around Hux’ collar, breath dark and damp like a beast’s “It looks like cinna-pod dust on frosting.” 

Hux let out a hoarse, mocking laugh “Dessert. Really? That’s cliché. You’re a clumsy seductor, Ren.”

Ren bit down, hard enough for the skin to purple. Hux dragged his nails over the nape of Ren’s neck, sliding the material away. He dragged the knight upright, to regard his chest. 

He traced a particular set of dots, amused “This looks like a constellation that used to drift over Arkanis in Winter.” Ren gave him a withering look; Hux continued “The muteshir. Part woman, part fish. It’s said she was once loved by the Gods, but coveted her own reflection, neglecting their temples. They drowned her for her pride...” 

He pressed his mouth against Ren’s sternum “Then exalted her to the sky as a warning to others.”

He pushed Ren slowly back, mouthing at the hard give of muscles in his belly “This seems like an opportune moment to mention...” he nosed the soft hairs of Ren’s navel; it smelt damp, salty, and exceedingly dangerous “That there’s something I want.”

The crown of Ren’s skull banged against the carpet, and he groaned like a frustrated child “Now?!”

“No.” Hux licked the man’s frankly obscene length, tongue rasping harshly “But very soon. I want to build a new Starkiller base.” He rested his chin on the jut of Ren’s left hip “A smaller one. That was our mistake, before. We were too grand.” He huffed a hot breath between the Knight’s legs “Dreamt too – big.” 

Ren made a strangled noise and snapped, defeated “Do as you like.”

And so Hux did. He coaxed and bit immense noise and minute shudders from Ren’s wracked body, unpicking the seams of him with vicious genteelness. The man was his sun, he decided, then. He would bask, consume and then refract Ren’s power out across the infinite universe, until their stars faded to specks and they were both spent. 

Just like that, the name of his new creation came to him: Mooneater, he decided, and congratulated himself as Ren came in his mouth.

Hux gagged a little, working his throat and wincing. He wiped his lips and felt the snarl of fingers in his hair, dragging his skull up, impossibly “Mph..? What?”

Ren smirked, teeth flashing as he panted, hard “Mooneater. Seriously?”

Hux cuffed him brutally upside the head, and the man laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in ~blah~ is spoken telepathically. Hope that made sense! Oh boy, the next arc is my FAVOURITE. Can't wait.


	8. Soiree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Introducing Kylo ‘you sucked my dick once so now we’re engaged’ Ren. Or, both the boys discover the green-eyed monster. 
> 
> I must say this is my favourite chapter so far. I hope you all enjoy it!

The man before him certainly didn’t LOOK like the galaxy’s most renowned tailor. 

Short, portly, and with skin as green as a Corellian squid (and just as slimy), the man rubbed his webbed fingers together gleefully as he surveyed Ren. Ren, for his sins, stood awkward and immense, staring down at the life form with discomfort and slight trepidation. 

Hux cleared his throat “Re-- Supreme Leader. Meet Regis Pax, consummate tailor to the vain, opulent and stupidly rich.”

The little green Calamarian bowed deeply with immense aplomb, his long, thin nose brushing the floor. Hux felt mildly sickened by his flexibility. His clothing rippled and shone as though glued to his flesh. 

“So, your Supremeness!” he said in a high, squeaky voice, whipping out a gold-trim measuring tape “What colour palette are we working with here?”

Ren scowled, fists twitching “....black.”

Regis Pax blinked his enormous eyes sorrowfully, deflating.

Hux stepped neatly forward to hover at Ren’s elbow “.....perhaps some greys and silvers, too?” he coaxed, reasonably. The knight bristled, lip curling. 

The Calamarian clapped his hands with great drama “Va’a~shek! A wonderful notion, Marshall!”

He snapped open a small, brown case made out of some kind of plated animal skin, and began retrieving impossible lengths of material and thread from them.

“Spindeweed silks, yes, and perhaps a whip of scarlet-“ he began to mutter and circle Ren, seemingly unaware or uncaring of the fact that the man had begun to growl “A v-cut? No, too harsh. Perhaps...”

Ren shot Hux a poisonous, sidelong look. Hux simply raised his palms, placating, and said nothing. His Supreme Brattishness tossed his head like a horse and harrumphed. 

Pax held up a long length of exquisite, silverite-grey material to Ren’s gigantic bicep “Might I humbly suggest ruby taffeta inlay, and white-gold trim, to exemplify the black...?” he gently pressed the length of material from Ren’s shoulder to his elbow “This would compliment your infamous weapons and the colours of the First Order, also.” 

His eyelids slid open then closed, horizontally, his thin lips curling as he half-cooed “And, may I add, t’will bring out the natural ambers in your eyes.”

Hux blinked. Did....did this slimy git just make a PASS at Ren....?

The knight was paying no attention. Just as well. Hux brushed the material from Ren’s shoulder, irritated “Yes, quite.” He shoed the Calamarian away, feeling the telltale twist of temper rising in his gut “I’m sure you can figure out the rest-“

The minute tailor interrupted him, expertly “Some slimline cuts to emphasise the breadth of your shoulders, your Supremeness...?”

Ren’s chest rose and fell, aggravated “Fine.” he waved a gloved palm, dismissively “I don’t really care.”

Hux continued to be utterly irritable throughout the rest of the session. But he did have to admit, the finishing effect was impressive. The garment was simple and somewhat similar to Ren’s usual tunic and robes, but with lines like cut glass, simple and foreboding. A large, full train fanned out dramatically from his waist, and a high, stiff collar made him look even taller than he already was. 

When Pax was fussing at the hem of the train, Hux intervened, hissing “Not THAT long. He’s a warrior, not a Princess, despite his heritage.” Ren snarled and kicked Hux’ ankle; Hux ignored him “I want people to fear him, not want to lift his skirts.”

Like a certain thrice-damned, soon-to-be-sushi Calamarian seemed to want to. Ren’s chin turned to look at him as Hux seethed. He looked surprised, then amused. Hux felt his ears turn pink. 

Pax spread his fingers with a huff “Oh, tek tek, Marshall, sex always sells. If you prefer, I can make it excessively short, rather than long~” he beamed, suddenly “Oh! That reminds me, your new uniform, as requested. I made the modifications exactly as you described.”

Hux snatched the neat pile of coal-black clothes, belt and boots, and turned on his Supreme Leader, directing all of his considerable ire at Ren’s highly punchable face “Please tell me you’ve remembered where and at whose pleasure we’re attending tonight.”

Ren rolled his eyes “I don’t need to. I can just snatch the answers out of your vapid skull.”

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose, then walked over to his vanity to set the clothes down, carefully. He could already feel a migraine building behind his eyes “Ren.” 

It came out – a little more weary than he’d intended. Ren squirms. Then huffs “Canto Bight.” He searches Hux’ mind with cool, sticky, incorporeal fingers “Tarquinn Geld.”

“Cheater.” The Marshall reprimanded, examining the gold stripes of rank on the sleeves of his new uniform. The stars were a nice touch... “And who, precisely, is Tarquinn Geld?”

“Heir to the Aurelian Conglomerate.” Ren replies, tone low and steady as Pax continues to flit about him like a gnat “He’s the richest lifeform in the entire galaxy.”

Hux nods, and lifts the left, thigh-high boot to examine the leather “Quite. He’s also a ruthless, vain, utterly morally bankrupt pervert.”

He could FEEL Ren’s smirk “....are you related?”

Hux tossed his boot at Ren’s head with childish enthusiasm, snarling. It bounced harmlessly off the man’s barrel of a chest, and Pax squeaked in alarm “I’m not a pervert!” he didn’t bother to deny the other three comparisons “Will you just FOCUS. Who is he marrying?”

“Some wench.” Hux raised his other boot, eyes narrowed in silent threat; Ren scowled, and clarified “The Darquess of Liu, Sappho Dietrich.”

“Who is she?”

“The SECOND richest lifeform in the entire galaxy.”

“Excellent.” Hux noted with amusement how Ren’s lip quirked at even this small praise “Now, the Conglomerate is currently neutral, but rumour has it that will soon change. After his marriage Geld will declare himself either for the Resistance, or the Order. And believe me, it will have nothing to do with the inclination of his heart.” 

The Marshall stepped neatly between Pax’ clutching hands and Ren’s torso, pressing the flats of his palms to the knight’s belly with fond insistence “As SOMEBODY keeps wasting vast amounts of our resources on blasting pointlessly at their ex-relatives...” Ren’s eyes flashed opaque; careful, careful “We need some kriffing cash. Lots of it. We must secure Geld’s allegiance.”

He soothed his knuckles up and down Ren’s chest, emphasising. Ren watched him intently with an unreadable expression, chin wobbling. His dark brows were knitted together in mild concentration. 

“What exactly do you expect me to do about that?” he grumbled, deadpan. 

Hux grinned, incisors creeping out from behind his thin lips “Primarily, speak as little as possible and look impressive and imposing.”

It could be his imagination, but Ren looked faintly – relieved “I can do that.”

Hux raised his heels, balancing on the balls of his bare feet, and pressed his lips slowly but firmly to Ren’s “Good boy.”

Lavish did not even begin to describe it.

Canto Bight was ridiculously opulent on the most dreary of days, but this? This was extravagance on an unprecedented scale. 

EVERYTHING shone. The floor tiles were scented with priceless amino-oils. Ice braziers curled around licking purple flames three-floors high, melting and re-freezing in an endless cycle of waste. An entire new wing of the infamous Marquisse Suite had been constructed for the occasion.

A seemingly infinite array of every conceivable, consumable entity in the galaxy was laid out on floating platters. The smell was dazzling. Hux swallowed back the instinct to drool.

They had to be announced, of course. Every guest did. Jewel-plated protocol droids met them with a grovel and a subtle sweep-scan of their clothing. The invitation had been clear. No weapons. No contraband. 

It had also insisted that he and Ren came alone. 

“Sirs are gently reminded that this is a neutral zone.” The Ringmaster droid simpered, bowing low “To quote the Master, kindly leave politics and pissing contests at the door. Welcome!”

To Hux’ immense surprise, Ren drew himself up with dignity and a regal resolve. The Marshall went to stand appropriately back and to the left of the Supreme Leader, but the knight gave him a stern, disdainful look. And offered his elbow.

....well. That was – that was something. What in Hells did Ren think Hux was – a consort?! He swallowed his pride, thickly, and slipped his white-gloved fingers into the crook of Ren’s arm with some resentment. 

“Announce us.”

Hux blinked, and realised that the deep, resonating command had come from the creature beside him. Alright. Who the kriff was this, and what had he done with Hux’ flailing, homicidal brat...?

“Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, head of the First Order.” The droid trilled out, the words echoed back at them from the speaker-droids distributed like fat bees all around the complex “And Grand Marshall Armitage Hux, also of the First Order.”

As they descended the steps with long, matched strides, Hux heard the high trill of a familiar voice. And swallowed, hard “HUXY~ finally accepted my invitation, have we, you sly hag?!”

Ren froze. Hux dredged a smile up from somewhere deep in his gut and turned to greet Tarquinn Geld as he swanned regally towards them “Tarquinn. Always a pleasure.” He gritted out.

Geld was not particularly tall. He was well built in the way that vain men are, all pomp and pleasing lines, but no real strength. His skin had the reflective sheen of his kind, gold, in his case. His hair was also gold, and the effect was somewhat unnerving. His eyes were opaque, overlarge orbs of piercing blue with the slightest pinprick of pupil. 

He walked, talked and acted as his legacy allowed: utterly without consequence. 

“You kriffing liar, you.” Geld laughed, raucously, curls tossing as he threw his hair back “I hear congratulations are in order! Finally managed to murder and fuck your way into Marshalldom, mm?”

Ren jerked, and Hux squeezed his arm hard in warning. Easy, easy. 

“And THIS must be the infamous Kylo Ren!” Geld snatched Ren’s clenched fist from his side, fast as lightning, and bent, pressing his lips to the Knight’s knuckles “Supreme Leader. You look utterly ravishing.”

Oh, Gods. Hux sent a silent, fervent prayer to all the deities he had never believed in. He was going to die. He was not going to survive the night.

While his internal brain threw a tantrum, his lips had the sense to reply “Congratulations to you as well, Geld. On your engagement.”

Geld exhaled, cheeks puffing “Oh, thanks. She’s an angel. A raging lesbian with more money than sense, a murderous temperament and she doesn’t mind sharing. I’m in love.” He winked, glitter on his eyelashes dazzling beneath the lights “There’s something to be said for finding your match in life, no?”

He glanced between them, eyes roving over Hux’ fingers on Ren’s arm. The Marshall’s stomach dropped. Oh, no “Speaking of which! How long have you been sucking this one’s manhood, Huxy?!”

To his absolute credit, Hux didn’t miss a beat “Since yesterday Morning.” He coolly replied, eyebrow twitching.

“You Lagardian HOUND!” Geld roared, clapping Hux on the shoulder. Crisis averted “Mind if I borrow your Supreme Leader for a tic? Ta.”

“Wha-“

Quick as wink, Ren had been swept away from him, dumbfounded. 

Hux inhaled, turned on his heel, and headed immediately and without ceremony for the open bar. He ordered some kind of rose-tinted, bubbling concoction with flakes of silver in it, and kept a sharp eye on Geld and Ren, conspiring in a secluded nook behind the grand central staircase. 

Geld seemed to be speaking, a lot, gesturing animatedly. He couldn’t make out Ren’s expression, but he was keeping his mouth shut. Thank Palpatine’s charred CORPSE for that. 

Hux had just taken to admiring the view and resisting the urge to relax, when his Supreme Leader came stomping back over, cheeks ruddy and mouth set in a grim line. Uh-oh.

“Easy, now.” Hux caught the onslaught of pectorals as they encroached on his personal space “I hope you haven’t done anything drastic.”

Ren’s nostrils flared “That man-“

He hesitated. Hux cocked an eyebrow, and drawled, coaxing “Yes...?”

“He suggested that we-“ Ren clenched and unclenched his hands “Join him. Later. AFTER.” 

Hux blinked, setting his drink down, swiftly “He invited us to his bed?” Ren nodded. Hux grinned, triumph pooling in his belly, and resisted the urge to clutch at the knight’s shoulders “Marvellous! Excellent work, Ren. I’m impressed.”

Silence.

“I said no.”

“...WHAT?!” Hux spluttered. The pool of triumph tapered off into a sad puddle of gathering dread. 

Had he been paying more attention rather than feeling sorry for himself, the Marshall may have noticed Ren’s eyes turning an opaque, impenetrable black “I. Told. Him. No.” 

Hux clenched his own fists, knuckles white and bloodless. He licked his lips, quashing the urge to YELL, and hissed spitefully “Are you dim-witted? What am I saying, I KNOW you are, you slow, fething IDIOT. Do you have any idea the insult-“

“You’ve done this before.”

...oh. Oh. Now....now, Hux noticed the rising thread of danger in Ren’s voice. His eyes flitted, sharply, up. Ren stood utterly still. His gaze bored into the Marshall’s like blades. 

Hux licked his lips, slowly, and looked away, jaw set. Ren repeated, very, very slowly “You’ve done this BEFORE.”

Hux met his brutish gaze coldly “I heard you the first time. Thank you very much.”

Pain shot up his arm as fingers like vices dug cruelly into his flesh. Ren dragged him abruptly and viciously beyond the stair, behind a column, into semi-darkness. He was speechless. Hux couldn’t see his face. His heart skipped a beat, cold creeping up his spine. 

The Marshall opened, then closed his mouth. Inhaled sharply “Ren!” the grip on his arm tightened, and Hux yelped, incensed “Let me go! You’re making a scene!”

“How many?”

Ren’s silhouette was still and unforgiving. His voice was so....calm. Hux shuddered. 

“What does it matter?!”

“How. Many.”

Hux realised, with a hot rush of shame, that he was shivering. He didn’t know. He didn’t KNOW how many. A dozen, or so. Fat, dead men. Bony old women, rouge painting their cracked, quivering lips. They were bodies, just bodies. And so was Hux. He had few tools at his disposable, he had used them. And been used. It did not matter. It couldn’t. 

The Supreme Leader’s grip continued to tighten, squeezing, squeezing. Hux set his teeth as he felt his bones creaking, and gritted out “Ren. You’re hurting me.”  


The knight’s face emerged from the dark, leaning close. Hux did not know if he was relieved to see it. 

“I don’t like it.” He said, with cutting gentleness “You belong to me.” Ren shook him once, hard “You belong to me, Hux. I forbid it. I FORBID it.”

What have we done, Hux wondered. Not for the first or last time. 

“Ren.” Hux hissed, straining to keep the pain from his voice “You’ll break my arm.”

Ren slammed him hard against the column and seethed, lips a whisper from Hux’ nose “Perhaps I should break both your legs so you wouldn’t be able to OPEN them for every fething official who tosses you a glance!”

Hux slapped him. 

Hard, smart, and with impeccable aim. Ren’s head snapped to the side, the loose threads of his hair escaping from the clip. 

The spell broke. 

When Ren turned back to look at him, his eyes were brown, again. He looked stung, his cheek red and sore. He sniffed, haughty. Unrepentant. Hux squirmed in his grip, writhing to get away “Stop that at once.”

The Marshall fixed him with a cold stare utterly bereft of feeling, and said, dully “As the Supreme Leader commands.”

Ren’s lower lip quivered. He scowled, growled. He released Hux’ bicep, and it pulsed, aggrieved “I said STOP it.” He cupped his enormous palms a hair from Hux’ face, but hesitated, not quite touching “Stop.” 

Stop what, Hux wonders. Stop hating you? I won’t. Not for this “Don’t expect to call me a whore and be forgiven, Ren.”

The knight flinches as if struck again. After a long moment, his eyes narrow “I don’t need your forgiveness.” He spits, vilely.

But you do, Hux thinks, perhaps a little too loudly. Oh....you do. 

Suddenly, Ren’s arms are around his shoulders. Curling against his back like sad, limp creatures. His wet nose presses hard into Hux’ collar “....sorry.” he exhales, shaking; defeated “Sorry, sorry.”

Hux waits just a hair too long before lifting his hands to stroke the crown of Ren’s head “You should be.” He sighs, chest caving in “That was immensely crass, even for you.” 

Ren sniffs, gargling. It’s unsightly. Hux feels – odd, hollowed out “There, now. You’re forgiven. I forgive you, you pathetic boy.” There’s a lull; it’s quiet. Hux feels suddenly deeply endeared to Ren “I must say. I can’t help but like you like this.”

Ren draws back, eyes suspiciously red, frowning and curious. Hux pushes the knight’s sticky hair back “Cruel.”

He could see the pattern, now. A miniature Ren, pulling the wings from flies, accidentally snapping the neck of some forlorn pet. Holding the remains up to his horrified Mother. Confused, brutal. Cut to the bone when his own blood looks at him, afraid. 

Hux was not afraid. He could never be afraid of Ren. He- didn’t quite know why. He should be.

“If you ever leave me.” Ren says, voice cracking, timid and ruthless “I’ll kill you.”

Hux snorts, almost fond “Yes, yes.” He drags his fingers through the length of Ren’s dark hair “Shh.”

The man’s eyes widen. He’s goes suddenly, deathly, still. Blood drains further from his face. Hux frowns “Ren?” he pinches the knight’s ear when he doesn’t respond “What is it?”

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everything inbetween, Her Royal Highness Princess Leia Organa, General of the Resistance.”

...kriff.

“...and, Captain Poe Dameron, also of the Resistance.”

FETHING kriff.


	9. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which shade is thrown and nobody wins. Also, roast Porgs. RIP Carrie Fisher, our Princess. I hope the lack of fucks Leia gives in this chapter is even an ounce of the tribute you deserve.

Organa certainly held herself like royalty, Hux mused.

She was a very petite woman, which was surprising. Hux vaguely recalled that Solo had hardly been a man of great stature, and so he wondered where Ren’s enormous bulk had sprung from. The teat of the Force itself, or some such rot, perhaps. Or maybe just too much blue milk as a toddler.

Her greying hair was bound up in a traditional Alderaanian mourning knot, her robes neither fanciful nor dull, bedecked with pale purple cloth and silver thread. Several large rings laced her gnarling hands. 

Her dark eyes, simultaneously morose and sharp as a blade, were affixed, unblinkingly, upon the knight at Hux’ side.

Out of sight, Hux settled the tips of his fingers at the small of Ren’s back, and pressed gently but firmly, murmuring "Careful, Ren."

Ren gave no sign he had heard the Marshall, but for the slightest flit of his eyelashes. 

"Supreme Leader." The woman’s voice cut the air like shattering glass "General."

Ren has his Mother’s eyes, Hux thinks, unbidden. Then shakes himself from his reverie, drawing himself up. Let the games begin "It's Grand Marshall now, actually, Princess." He replied, with smooth disdain, as she set her feet on the final step. 

The corner of Organa’s lips quirked, her eyes cold as a Hothian Winter "...how sweet. Congratulations."

The vein in Hux’ temple pulsed, violently. How DARE you condescend to me, you vicious, meddling harpy! 

Fortunately or unfortunately, Poe Dameron chose that precise moment to interject, all shining curls and perfectly aligned teeth "Loving the new duds and do, Hugs! Makes you look YEARS younger. And less greasy."

Hux suddenly, fervently wished that he had even a shred of Force sensitivity, so he could snap the karking kriffter’s tan NECK. He inhaled, sharply. Settled his jumping pulse, and drew a smirk from his inner arsenal "Tell me, Captain. Does the Resistance have some kind of height restriction...? Or are rations simply THAT atrocious?" 

Dameron’s smug smile wavered, and he bristled "We have an excess of blue milk shipments available if you'd like to trade."

"Yeah?” the pilot took a sharp step forward into Hux’ space, and Ren’s jaw twitched in warning (although it seemed Hux was the only one who noticed; he was becoming disturbingly attuned to Ren’s little moods, these days) “Does the First Order have weight classes? I'll bet yours is one step below featherweight: paper?" he tossed the Supreme Leader an incredibly foolish wink "And Crylo Zen here is swole."

...what the...what...what is ‘swole’?!

"Quality not quantity, Dameron." Hux’ smart brain replied, smoothly; an idea came to him "How's FN-2187? Apart from a walking dead man, of course."

The effect was instantaneous. The pilot’s caramel skin bled a few shades lighter, and his teeth gritted. Oh? What was this? A crush...? How quaint. 

"Fascinating though this dick-measuring contest is..." both Hux and Dameron startled as Organa interrupted them, tone dry and unimpressed "I need a drink. Poe, if you would be so kind."

Dameron looked between all three of them, reluctant "General, are you sure -" 

"Go."

Dameron, very wisely, obeyed. He threw a sharp look over his shoulder as he scuttled away, heels squeaking on the scented floor. Hux winced at the sound. 

There was a very long, heavy, uncomfortable silence. Organa stared steadily up at Ren, eyes hard and impenetrable. Opaque, as the knight’s sometimes went. 

Hux swept his thumb unthinkingly against the base of Ren’s spine.

"Does the man who killed my husband and son still have a voice?" 

The knight jerked as if electrocuted. It rather undermined his dismissive tone as he replied, a little too quickly "I need not answer to you, woman."

Organa turned her gaze abruptly on Hux. The Marshall had to quash the utterly irrational urge to stick his tongue out at her, like an infant "Yet you still answer to someone." Organa clucked her tongue, disapproving and ruthless "My poor Ben. Always dithering. Always needing someone to tell him what to think, rather than think for himself." 

Ben. Hux turned the name over in his mind, imagined it on his tongue. It sat thickly and fat, and wrong "Just like his Uncle."

Skywalker was dead, now. Ren himself had told him so. 

Hux cleared his throat softly, and decided to rescue his Supreme Leader from his wounded ego "Madam. I'm a force-null Arkanesian with back problems and no notable physical prowess." He rested his chin on his own palm, nonchalant and withering "Do you TRULY think I can force Ren to do anything he doesn't wish to...?"

She considered this. Then snorted "So you're an advisor, then. At least you're good for something. Commanding wasn't your forte." Hux started "Losing one base is careless. Losing two? Incompetence." 

This fething, batty old CU-

"... I'm impressed the First Order is still functioning, Supreme Leader." The General’s gaze swung, mercilessly, back to Ren "Considering you couldn't even lead a mini-league nerf ball team when you were six."

....okay. Credit where credit is due. Ren was sheet-white and speechless, and Hux had to hand it to Organa. That was a good one. 

"Your drink, General!" Dameron re-entered the fray with impeccable timing, and Hux was, for the very first time, glad to see him "Uhhh..."

The Ringmaster droid clapped his hands high on a podium above them, and Hux muttered a brief and heartfelt prayer of thanks to whichever non-existent deity had his back tonight. 

"Ladies, gentlemen and other erroneous life forms! Please kindly take the seats assigned to you at table."

Ren snarled like a leashed wolf and whirled on them all, train tossing like a falling curtain. Hux stalked in his wake at a discreet distance, until they drew closer to the seemingly infinite, narrow table at the far end of the hall.

He caught Ren’s elbow loosely "Easy." Turned his nose to the shell of Ren’s ear, grounding him "Ignore them. They're irrelevant." 

His Supreme Leader was shaking. Mildly, yes, but he was. If Hux did not know better, he’d think the man going into medical shock. Ren’s nostril’s flared and he spat "She means nothing to me."

"Of course she doesn't." The Marshall soothed, silkily. His thumb brushed Ren’s chin briefly, drawing his gaze "And we need not waste another moment of our time talking to-" 

"Here are your seats, sirs."

Both men turned like doomed sentinels, to find themselves sat opposite their equally surprised (Dameron) and amused (Organa) nemeses.

What followed was a veritable cold war of silence.

Cutlery clinked. The various mouth-watering delicacies floated dreamily past their noses in an endless carousel, as the room bustled and howled around them, raucously. For Hux’ sins, he’d had more scintillating conversation at funerals. (Admittedly, most funerals he went to, he had murdered the deceased, and so was uncharacteristically gleeful – but that was beside the point). 

Hux blinked and grinned, unbidden, as a golden tray of fat, fuschia, slug-like confections floated by. Could it truly be - he snatched one "Re- Supreme Leader. Here. Have you ever tried these?"

Ren shook his head, frowning distractedly. Hux turned, rather rudely, away from their guests and took Ren’s right wrist "Pavlovian ringworms. They're exceedingly rare. Almost extinct, in fact.”

He held the bursting belly of the creature to Ren’s lips. The knight shot the Marshall a haughty glare, but opened his mouth obediently. Hux pushed the slither of meat past Ren’s teeth, eyes dark "Hold it on your tongue. One. Two..."

Ren blinked. Then swallowed, and licked his lips, eyes widened and heady with pleasure. Hux cocked his head and smiled, remembering all too well his first ‘ringworming.’

"What was that?"

Hux pressed his palms together, teeth flashing "Mm? Oh! It ejaculates post-mortem when heated. Hence why it's served on ice. It emits the most delicious-"

Ren turned an unattractive shade of green "Do shut up, Hux."

"So." Organa interjects, coolly "The two of you are lovers?"

Poe choked on a mouthful of sweet ice. 

Hux recovered himself after a moment of utter shock, and sneered "Don't be naive, Princess. We are not men who love."

The General turned her eyes to Ren, who was studiously ignoring her and poking another Pavlovian worm with acute suspicion "Of that, I'm well aware."

Recovering from his brief brush with death, a pale Dameron groaned "Oh, that's revolting, that is. Bad-guy sex. Do you play the Imperial March during?"

Organa shot the pilot a stern look "Poe."

Hux looked down his nose at the infuriating speck of a man "Yes, -Poe-. Behave yourself, or Mummy will move you to the kiddies table where you belong."

“How are my fearsome denizens of the latest Galactic War?!” 

Now Hux was thankful to see Tarquinn GELD, of all people. If things continued as they were, he’d be extolling the virtues and keen political nous of Jar Jar Kriffing BINKS before the sun came up “Enjoying the food, enjoying the drink, enjoying the company, mm?”

“It’s simply delightful.” Hux replied, deadpan, capturing the general mood with exceeding accuracy. 

Geld’s cerulean blue eyes sparked, intelligent and keen even through the haze of alcohol and other assorted opiates he’d consumed “It may seem like it, but I’m no silly fether, gentlemen. Lady.” He bowed deeply to Organa “We all know why we’re here. You need my money. All of you do.”

The General interjected, smoothly “Not necessarily money. Loyalty-“

The Marshall interrupted, sharply, clarifying “We want the money, too.”

Geld tutted and flicked Hux’ ear “Huxy, respect your elders. That was very rude.” Ren growled, lowly, and Hux slid his palm over the manchild’s quivering knee “But I’m in no mood for politics tonight. So! Here’s the deal. The four of you play nice, make nice, and dance for me.”

Dance?

“And you’ll all receive a priceless invitation to a little gathering I’m having in, oh. Four quadratics.” Geld steepled his twelve fingers delicately in a cathedral, sealing their fates “That’s when I’ll make my decision. You catchin’?”

‘Catchin’?! If Hux knew Geld, and he did, the only thing they’d be ‘catchin’ from the man was a serious venereal disease.

After a beat, Ren replied before Hux could “Very well.”

Dameron poked forlornly at his now abandoned dessert pile “Sounds kriffing GREAT.”

“Aha! The Kachaturian Waltz is starting!” Geld squealed, delighted, and swept over the table to extend an elegant palm to Organa “My dear General, may I have the pleasure...?” he tossed a wayward wink at Ren “Two words for you, kiddo: Huttite Bikini.”

....Hux had no clue what the man was on about, but it sounded highly disturbing. 

Beside him, Ren’s chair legs scraped ominously. Hux blinked, and glanced up. His Supreme Leader stood looking at him expectantly, chin tipped down, palms flat on the table. Oh. 

“We have to dance.” He said, brutish and stubborn “It’s part of the deal.”

The Marshall scoffed, incredulous “Not likely! You’ll step on me with your clumsy, spade-feet.” He tipped his chin to the ceiling, defiant and, admittedly, a little sulky “Do you even know how to dance?!”

Ren’s eyes began to darken in a now familiar, gathering storm “I know this one.” He gritted out, lowly “Don’t make me order you.”

Hux exhaled, shoulders slumping. He rubbed his swelling, bruised bicep, angrily. Oh, hells. What was another kriffing humiliation...?

He stood abruptly, tossing his napkin down. Tugged his ceremonial jacket with brocade from his shoulders, and dumped it on the table. It was too tarking HOT in here. He set his shoulders and pressed gloved, white fingers into Ren’s ebony palm.

He pressed his other palm flat to Ren’s right shoulder as the knight’s paw found his hip. They launched together into the first few steps with ease, and Hux’ stomach dropped as he anticipated the first lift.

“Don’t you DARE drop me, Ren.” He hissed, as Ren’s arm slid around his waist.

“I won’t.”

Hux believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm off to the ballet tomorrow night, my doves, so there may or may not be an update. Depends on how late I get back. Kisses!


	10. Mater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: THANK YOU ALL so much for your wonderful comments, they give me life! 
> 
> The lovely onyxlikesjoker asked what waltz I had in mind for the dance, so here’s a link to what I had playing while I wrote: bit.ly/1oTc1ol.

When had Kylo Ren become – ‘Ren’?

Name’s had always been of immense consequence in the circles Hux moved in. Even moreso than titles. Bastard, General, Marshall. Armitage. It had always seemed crude and distasteful to him, that the summary of an entire life lived from cradle to coffin could be held suspended in a few, short syllables.

Armitage. Armitage meant swollen, blistering feet, forced into too-tight boots, never replaced as he grew out of them. Armitage was an empty belly and hands that could never get warm. Armitage was fear. Armitage was translucence: unseen, overlooked, insignificant. Armitage was nothing. 

Hux was purveyor of his Father’s name. He was a thief, he was a murderer. Hux was the Starkiller. Hux was power, borrowed, and jealously kept. 

He was not so naive as Ren. He knew that Ben Solo was no dead child, no mythical, stumbling conquest now vanquished forever. Ren had been born with that name and as long as others – his Mother, the scavenger girl, could call on it and be heard, the Knight would never completely belong to Hux. 

Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren had meant a chrome mask, heavy breath, religious nonsense. Hissing consoles and a woefully sharp increase in repair bills. Kylo Ren was the enemy. Kylo Ren had to die.

Ren?

....Ren was...

“You think too loud.” 

Hux snapped from his reverie and scowled. He landed purposefully off-balance and dug the sharp heel of his left boot into the crown of his most majestic Supreme Leader’s foot. Ren’s eyes flashed, his lips curling back in a sneer. HA. Let’s see you rule the galaxy with a stubbed toe, REN.

Ren’s palm sat like a flat, heavy stone against the small of Hux’ back. The Marshall caught himself resenting the layers of leather and stitch that separated their skin “You don’t think ENOUGH.”

Ren growled. Yanked on Hux’ fingers hard and let the man’s body fall rather than slide into a dip, and pressed their foreheads together, harshly “How would you know?!”

Unfortunately, the Karachaturian Waltz was the sort of archaic dance from Imperial times designed for courtship. Every handful of tics, partners execute an elaborate twirl, and take the hand of the next lifeform adjacent to their partner. 

A speed dating conga-line, if you will. Hux loathed it. His dance teacher had had sweaty, creeping hands and his breath smelt like sour cloves.

Ren snarled in his ear, startling him. His fingers slid unnecessarily high up the rear of Hux’ inner thigh during a lift and a turn, and dug, cruelly, in. The Marshall felt a shudder of heat curl in his belly, and he cocked his head at Ren, amused. Yes, yes. Yours. Fine. No need to be so kriffing melodramatic about it. It was only the ghost of some long gone pervert. Must Hux police his very memories, now...?

The tempo sped up. 

Hux glanced swiftly down the line. Kriff. Both Organa and Dameron were fulfilling their side of the bargain, and drawing closer. What in Hells had he done to deserve- alright, perhaps he walked into this one. But even diabolical masterminds deserved a break, occasionally. Surely?

Time to part. They drew back from one another, fingers laced, loosely, and bowed. Stiff, insincere. They both hated to defer, after all. 

“Behave yourself, Ren.” Hux murmured, set his teeth briefly against Ren’s knuckles in a not-quite kiss. He resisted the urge to bite the oaf for good measure. 

He turned. And Poe Motherfething Dameron was his next partner. If ONLY Hux had thought to bring his Fleur de Roi brooch. It had six forms of potent poison concealed in the pin. Ill-prepared is ill-executed. Emphasis on EXECUTE.

They bowed. Barely. Dameron really did manage to stuff a monumental amount of irritating traits into that tiny frame and brain.

“Captain.”

Poe winked. He actually WINKED “General.”

Hux growled, and snapped despite himself “Marshall!”

Dameron rolled his eyes, and blew a wayward, sun-nut hued curl from his forehead “Whatever, Hugs.”

The pilot had evidently only been taught this dance recently, and was clumsy and ill-footed. He seemed to be spending the majority of his time muttering, coaching himself through the steps: onetwothree, to the left – NO! Right, step back, oh, kark it- this guy is kriffing TALL in person - 

They didn’t really touch so much as hover their limbs as close to one another as they could bear. 

Focus, Hux reprimanded himself. Stop sulking. You can turn this to your advantage. He eyed the slatted line of sunburn on the crown of Dameron’s neck “Been somewhere hot, have we?”

The pilot sniffed “Hotter than you. You’re paler than dying glass frog. And just as appetising.”

“Charming.” Hux noted with some considerable ire that Dameron could, in fact, support his weight. He swore a solemn oath to eat a thousand protein cakes the second he returned to the Retribution.

Hux canted his head close, and Dameron started “Your mouth runs fast. Shame it doesn’t run as fast as your ships – or your friends and comrades. Perhaps if they did, they would still be alive.”

Dameron’s pink mouth fell open, and he tripped. His dark eyes flashed like a kicked bantha-puppy “What in kriffing Hells happened to you to make you so-“ his tiny brain whirled and emitted smoke “Evil?!”

“Rough childhood.” Hux deadpanned; when in doubt, always tell the truth “You know, you spend so much of your time mouthing off...it’s a shame you don’t consider what the rest of you is saying.”

Dameron frowned, licked his lips, the tang of nerves stinging the air “Whaddya-“

“My comment about your skin.” Hux dipped his nose closer and sniffed, delicately, making the smaller man scramble backwards “The fact your hair smells faintly of Parba nuts – traded only in the Western Outer Rim. There was also a flood on the Parban homeworld, last season. So they’re in short supply near there.”

Dameron frowned, confused. But then, he must be used to that by now. He had the countenance of a man BORN confused. 

“Your shirt is a cheap knockoff of Arkanesian silk – only a native would know, of course, but it’s a good fake. So. You traded with the Black Markets.” Hux lifted their barely-cupped hands “...and is this Malachite ore under your fingernails?”

Dameron damn near threw him to the ground on the next lift, teeth gritted “What’s your kriffing POINT?!”

They drew into the final steps of their duet, pushing, pulling... “I wonder. Are FN-2187 and the little scavenger girl waiting for you back at your new base on Tartarus III?”

Blood fled from Dameron’s plush features “How did-

Hux drew back his sleeve and stabbed a few binary commands into the communicator at his wrist, impassive “I didn’t. There were two possibilities.” The device beeped starkly, message delivered “You just confirmed which one. My thanks, Captain. You’ve been a great asset.”

The music trolled on. But the silence between them as a deafening chasm. 

The pilot roared and launched at him “YOU SON OF A-“

“That’s enough, Captain.”

Aha! Finally, a surprise. He hardly expected to be saved from a clumsy beating by “Organa.”

And so the waltz continued. 

Grand Marshall Armitage Hux may be a morally depraved, heartless space-fascist, but there was one thing he wouldn’t stoop to: and that was forcefully manhandling a woman. He was not a romantic. He had no qualms in ordering the death of men, women and children alike. But there was something – immensely distasteful to him, about wifebeaters. Likely it sprang from his Father’s example.

And so, when he took Leia Organa’s hand, he was stiff but gentle. 

Organa did not seem surprised. She never seemed surprised by anything. Possibly, it was her decrepit Force-jargon powers. Couldn’t some of them have visions of the future...?

“Tell me something, Marshall. Did you have a Mother?”

The General’s tone was quiet but coarse. Hux smirked “I had two, as a matter of fact.” 

Maratelle Hux had been Brendol’s legitimate wife. A lithe crow of a woman, she had a certain faded beauty about her ebony hair and thin, sharp nose. She married below her station because her Old Imperial Father was ambitious, and resented it in the sullen way that rich women do.

Armitage had always admired her immense height, and how her jewels sat fat and sluglike against her bony chest and dull breasts. Nobody had ever been in any doubt that Armitage was not her son. How could they? The bitch was barren. Possibly because of the drugs, some muttered. 

Then, there was Laurentia Portent. The woman who gave birth to him, a scullery maid. Hux barely remembered her. She had a sharp, upturned nose, watery blue eyes and a thin, rodent-like face. Her hair had been lank and titian, but smelt – nice. Like soap. She had seemed to permanently tremble. 

Brendol had fucked her once on a table as Armitage cowered beneath it. His Mother had said nothing at all. Only shook when the boy showed her the bruises and burns that matched her own. She was weak. Useless. 

“Are they proud of you?”

Organa’s voice cut through Hux’ thoughts like a scythe through butter “They’re both dead.”

Organa inclined her head, stately, eyes cold “Good. I hate the idea of any Mother having to endure what I have. I’ll keep these women in my thoughts.”

Hux stared at her. And threw his head back, and laughed, bitterly “You’d have got along famously, General!” oh, this was just priceless; the woman was tossing BARBS “You have so much in common! You both monumentally failed your sons, for one.”

She did not flinch; only replied, quietly “Did she disappoint you?”

Hux, impossibly, felt himself inclined to be honest “We disappointed one another.”

“I can relate.”

Hux sneered “Please, don’t.”

Silence. They moved through the next few steps in a solemn tandem. Then “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

The Marshall’s heart dropped to his stomach. His face drained. His mouth fell open “....what....?”

Organa looked up at him with Ren’s eyes “That memory.” She blinked, lips twitching in what appeared strangely like- regret “No child should ever have to go through something like that.”

How – she – how dare she. How DARE she-! How DARE she pity him! Hux clenched and unclenched his fists and snarled, breaking the dance “You know NOTHING about-“

~Kill her. It’ll be easy. Take-~

His brain registers that his knees have crashed into the floor before the agony in his head hits. It spirals up from the base of his neck and EXPLODES inside his skull, ricocheting as though a blaster had been set off. He’s shaking. It’s less unexpected than before, but it HURTS, oh Hells, it hurts-

“Marshall?” gentle, gnarled hands take his shoulders with surprising strength, and he’s raised to his feet and borne away, his vision pure white and pounding “Sit down, you stupid man. Sit down and breathe.”

He cradles his face in his palms and struggles hard just to BREATHE. Inhale, exhale. His breath rattles. Every movement intensifies the spears of agony lancing and licking in his mind, as though his thoughts are being dragged over fresh, sharp gravel. 

A cool, worn palm slips under his hair and presses to his forehead. He sobs, and thinks, impossibly, Mother...?

The pain recedes, a little. Enough for him to peel his fingers away, open his eyes, and meet Organa’s gaze. He feels bloodshot and beaten. 

“What lives behind your eyes, Armitage Hux?” she says, hoarse and even “You’re – touched by something. Truly terrible.” She frowns “I can help.”

“Why would you?” Hux spits, heart pounding – and swallows hard. He licks his lips, hesitates. Then hisses, very quietly “What’s happening to me?”

“Get away from him!”

Ren’s voice rents the air like a sonic boom, torn and livid. Rough hands curl around his biceps, one palm curling unthinkingly around the bruised imprint from earlier that night. Hux winces. Organa frowns. 

“Don’t TOUCH him. Hux?” the knight’s voice has lowered to a cutting hush. He smells like salt and incense and that blend of chemicals that is uniquely, Ren. 

“Just a headache.” Hux grits out, trying not be alarmed by how much of a – balm, the Supreme Leader’s presence has become. When did this happen? How, did he let this happen?

Ren’s dark eyes catch his through the slats of his fingers, and a voice sounds in his head, accusingly ~It’s like before. I can smell it on you.~

The pain lances again, sickeningly, his veins are on FIRE. Hux hears himself keen, almost pleading “Stop that, you’re making it worse!”

Ren’s steady, cool palms find his cheeks, cupping them like a vice “Fine, fine, just – Hux. Let me see.”

Had Hux been in any state to note it, he’d have realised that the Supreme Leader was bent down on one knee, before him. Looking up. 

Leia Organa watched as Kylo Ren fussed and sniped with Armitage Hux, and, in a moment of unexpected clarity, saw her son again. 

Oh, Ben. Chased from your destiny by a nice waist and a pretty face. You really are your Father’s son. 

Somewhere in the ether, Han Solo was laughing.


	11. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ve plotted out this beast of a fic and decided to split it into 3 parts. A trilogy! Well, it is Star Wars. Each will be roughly 15 chapters, so stay tuned, my loves.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER IS SOFT AS HELL. Y'all have been warned. The trash compactor has become the fluff compactor. God help us all...

Hux loathed doctors.

It was, as most things are, a hangover from his childhood. He had been a sickly boy. Born too early, and Brendol Hux hadn’t the time nor the patience to send for proper care. Laurentia had given birth in a bathtub, with only the House Matron to help with the bleeding. The floor had been slick with chemicals and her bellows rang throughout the estate like a ghost’s. 

Perhaps his Father had hoped they both would die. Hux likes to think that living was his first act of defiance.

Neither Laurentia nor Maratelle had ever gotten pregnant again. Some said that Brendol had been treponemic, due to his promiscuity throughout his military career. It was a particularly nasty sexually transmitted disease, and it was rumoured he had passed the disease on to his wife and lovers. He certainly had the swollen face and pockmarked skin for it. 

Infants could not be carriers, thankfully, but Hux had lived with the consequences throughout his life.

A poor immune system and weak bones. Pale skin, well, paler even than was hereditary for a Hux. And an insurmountable number of visits to the clinic. He had been bled, pricked, injected and pumped full of a veritable rainbow of medicine. Most of it old-fashioned and barbaric. 

The shock therapy had been particularly DELIGHTFUL.

So when Ren marched him to the state-of-the-art medical wing of Canto Bight, he was more than a little resistant. He had done EVERYTHING. Cajoling, bribery. Threats. Even kicking. The knight had simply stared straight ahead, stony. His hand like a vice around the same bruised flesh he’d abused before, dragging Hux helplessly in his wake. 

His weary was bone-deep by the time Ren stormed over the threshold of the empty wing, and tossed him unceremoniously onto a medi-bench “You!” he barked at the orderly, all tossing hair and ruddy cheeks, and teeth, so many TEETH “Fetch the Chief Medical Officer or I’ll gut you.”

Crude, but effective, Hux supposed, head spinning idly. 

The knight would NOT stop pacing. The doctor kept jumping at shadows as Ren prowled and puffed like a ragged beast in a cage, interfering at every turn. After several tests and the clink and shatter of broken glass, Hux lost his temper “Just let the woman poke and prod so I can get the Hells out of here, for feth’s sake!”

His Supreme Leader snarled wordlessly at him. The Marshall raised a pale hand, and beckoned, tiredly “Come here, Ren.”

The man looked ridiculous. Still encased in his finery like a child playing dress-up. He sat down heavily on a stool beside the medi-bench, his enormous bulk stretching over the edges of the seat. His dark eyes bored into Hux’, accusing. Of what, the Marshall wasn’t sure. 

Hux fussed briefly with the crumpled material of Ren’s train, til it spread evenly about the stool, swept neatly out of the way. Ren blinked, and stared. The Marshall settled a palm on the bony cap of Ren’s knee, and exhaled, eyes slipping closed. Ren was solid and warm, and it grounded the giddy swirl of nausea in his head. 

Canto Bight’s third sun was setting in a bloodbath of red, pink and gold. He could feel the heat of the fat slats of fading light cascading across the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes, to see Ren’s features uplit, eerie. Half of his face was cast in deep shadow, the other luminous, almost reflective. 

Ren’s fingers settled hesitantly over his, and squeezed. Hux felt a quiet sense of foreboding creep into his chest. This was – not good. 

The Marshall raised his other hand and tore the gloves from his fingers with his teeth. He reached up, catching a long wind of Ren’s hair, and tugged, harshly, dragging the knight closer. He studied Ren’s features. 

They were a chaotic mess, a mash of soft flesh and bone, thrown together carelessly. Hard lines of cheek and nose gave way to tender flesh, full lips, and a thin, girlish chin. It shouldn’t be comely. But it was, somehow. Hux had long since abandoned trying to make anything associated with Kylo Ren make SENSE. 

He pressed a fingertip to the crook of the scar across Ren’s left eyebrow. Ren’s eyelashes dipped, his nostrils flared. Hux dragged the harsh edge of his nail down the pale line, making Ren blink again as he passed his eye.

“You look good soiled.” He concluded, quietly. Ren’s pupils blew “But I would much rather it were by my hand.”

He didn’t like that the scavenger girl had left her mark. She was nobody. She, like Solo, like Snoke, like Organa, like Skywalker, had leashed and lost the boy. It was careless. How could anybody let a man like Ren go...?

“Perhaps I should cut this open, again.” He mused, tracing the lick of the scar crawling down Ren’s neck. Then, when it knitted back together, it would be Hux’ line on Ren’s skin. Not hers. 

“If you like.” The knight replied, in that strange, mellow tone he sometimes adopted. 

The Marshall snorted, and briefly stroked the curve of Ren’s jaw with his knuckles “That’s sweet of you, Ren.” He let his hand drop, tiredly “Now. Be quiet.”

The doctor cleared her throat, deeply uncomfortable, and mentally swore to drink the evening’s strange events away that night with industrial-grade Moonshine Whiskey. 

“Well, Marshall.” The pink-skinned Toydarian inclined her head deeply to Ren “Supreme Leader. We’ve run a full infra-scan, and done extensive fluid work. Apart from an elevated heart-rate and some small malnutrition, as well as vitamin deficiencies...” Ren threw Hux a sour look that promised force-feeding “You seem to be a perfectly healthy Arkanesian male, against the species baseline.”  


Ren snapped, brusquely “So there’s nothing wrong with his head? Nothing at all?”

She shook her head, wincing, holding her medi-pad like a shield to her torso “From what we can tell, my Lord, no.”

“From what you can TELL?”

“Ren.” Hux placated, pressing a hand to his temple. His head pounded and his body was screaming for sleep. 

“I humbly suggest sufficient bedrest, nutrition, and solar supplements daily.” 

Hux sighed, and struggled upright. Ren’s hand shot out and caught his elbow, steadying him “So mild stress, is what you’re saying.” He smirked ruefully at her “Running a dictatorship is rather wearing, my dear doctor, I must confess.” Or babysitting a dictatorship, to be more accurate.

“I won’t sleep here.” The Marshall swung his legs over the side of the bench and shuffled to the edge, and gritted his teeth at the tremble in his arms. He scowled and extended his hands expectantly to Ren, commanding “Take me, oh Supreme Leader.”

Ren snorted and stood “You have legs, don’t you?”

Hux quashed the urge to pout at the infuriating man “You are an atrocious consort.”

“I’m the ruler, YOU’RE the consort.”

“And you abuse me so.” Hux snapped, rounding on the mildly alarmed Chief Medical Officer “Are you hearing this, doctor?!”

Ren snapped his teeth like a marsh rhino “Get up, Hux, you kriffing weakling.”

It occurred to the Marshall, suddenly, that perhaps Ren didn’t like it when he seemed anything other than superhuman. How childish. A boy and his false idols: what a pair they made. 

“I’ll remember this.” Hux promised, ominously.

As it turned out, Ren’s protestations were for nought. Hux barely made it down the first three corridors of the almost silent wing, before his legs began to ache. He felt as though every muscle in his body had been doused in acid. His hastily re-donned formal uniform was chafing his skin raw, as though it was brand new. Everything hurt. He pressed a sweaty palm to the cool wall, miserable, and just stood and breathed, for a moment.

Ren stood silent and agitated beside him. 

Hux felt too hot. His hair was damp at the temples. Everything was spinning again, sickeningly “Need a tic.” He gritted out. 

The world tilted, violently. At first Hux thought with alarm that perhaps he had fallen to the floor again, before he registered the roil and twist of muscles at his back and beneath his knees.

Ah. Ah, well, this was worse. So very much worse. The culmination of a long, hard fought career had come to this. Being carried like a ragdoll through the corridors of a hostile planet by an oversized toddler-monk. Perhaps it would be better if he HAD died at birth. 

"Just a little dizzy." He mumbled, mouth thick and brain stupid. Ren’s chest swelled then caved as he snorted beside Hux’ ear "You'll visit the infirmary when we return to the Retribution."

"That's unnecessary."

"You'll do as I say." Ren growled, fists clenching, digging into the Marshall’s flesh. Hux sighed "Supreme Leader. If the men think -"

"They'll think whatever I want them to think."

....true. Sometimes Hux forgot. 

"...would you do the same to me?" he wondered. With his powers, Ren could have him dancing the Twi’lekian Tango, naked, across his own bridge, and think it normal. Perhaps that was what had happened, these past days. He hollowly wondered if Ren had spun some kind of spell over him. 

"Not if you're obedient." The knight clarified, grudgingly "You can disagree. Just don't expect me to listen."

Hux snorted, and tucked his heavy head and burning forehead against Ren’s cool neck "Have you ever...?"

"Where is our room?"

He heard the words as if from far away. It felt like he was submerged underwater. And the water was boiling. He must have closed his eyes, at some point...

"Floor 109, suite number 66, my Lord."

He felt lulled by the repetitive pound of Ren’s boots on the floor and the twisting curl and uncurl of his body against Hux’. The soft kiss of air as a mechanical door swished open. The scuttle and click of droids. The heady scent of Ren’s skin against his nose. 

Clumsy, bare hands tugged and tore his clothes away and Hux felt he should protest, before he was slipped under a cold sheet, the hard line of a mattress against his searing spine. He made a soft noise of appreciation. 

Coarse fingertips flitted against his temples, and Ren rumbled from high above him "You will let me see."

"NO." The word was torn from him, his eyes flew open, heart pounding, slapping the knight’s hands away "No magic intervention, Ren, please. It makes it worse." He sounded hoarse and pathetic, and he loathed it “Sithspit, it’s hot in here.”

A palm as cold as marble slid against his forehead. Hux hummed and pushed against it, seeking relief “No. You are.”

Hux snickered weakly, lips quirking “You flatter me.”

There was a half-fond, half angry huff of air against his face “You are a mouthy bastard when you’re sick.”

“Clearly, I’m selling myself short. I strive to be a mouthy bastard when well, too.”

“Just – would you shut UP?!”

Quiet. Ren’s fingertips traced over his eyebrows, across his temples, down his nose. It was soothing. This was wrong, it was ALL wrong. It felt like a dream, it felt like a nightmare. Hux licked his lips, eyelids dipping “Please, Ren, no more magic in my head, I can’t stand it. Look tomorrow.”

He hated it. He HATED this. He was not a man who said please, or thank you. How DARE this invisible – something, lay him this low.

In the half-light, he barely made out the Supreme Leader inclining his head, slowly “Alright.”

Just before the darkness swept him under, he heard Ren murmur, very close “I forbid you to die, Hux.” Then, barely a whisper “I need you.”

The Marshall exhaled, gently, and turned his face to press flush to Ren’s “I know.”


	12. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which shit hits the proverbial fan and everything turns out for the best. Or does it?
> 
> ALSO: I solemnly swear that I WILL write a full sex scene before part 1 concludes, my loves. It's a New Year resolution!

He was back on Arkanis.

He knew this because of the hefty spatter of acrid rain against his face. A Summer storm had torn up the saltpetre lakes in the North and carried their poison to bear down on the city, like vengeful acid. He was stood on the balcony of his estate, for it was his, now. But something, subtly, was wrong.

There was no railing. No smooth cherrywood. No scuff-circle of burn from all of his doused cigars, hastily snuffed out at the flash of footsteps behind him. There was only a platform beneath his feet, and before him, nothing. Emptiness. No horizon.

Beneath his feet there was no smooth tile, but the bite of cold metal. He shuddered, and felt, rather than saw, his own utter, raw nakedness.

~Hux. Wake up.~

He opened his eyes, and saw nothing but the infinite, glittering void of an immense drop, down, down, down, a thousand buildings deep. 

“...oh.” he breathed, and shook. The thin metal strut beneath his bare feet began to shake in answer. 

The engorged mass of the Canto Bight skyline stretched out before him like a deep glittering bowl. He was stood at the very pinnacle of the newly constructed Marquisse Wing. He knew this, because he had heard in passing that it was the tallest building in the city. 

He could feel the flicker and hum of energy through his bones from the structure beneath him. The holo-board, he surmised. Six stories high, it displayed an endless rotation of glittering advertisements from dawn til dusk. 

Right now, it was gleefully extolling the virtues of a certain Madame d’Barrie’s Parlour of Wonders. A brothel. He was going to die, falling from a billboard advertising whores. 

He supposed it was all he deserved. 

“HUX!!!” the Marshall turned his chin sharply down and to the left, wincing as the spatter of polluted rains obscured the shadowy bulk of a familiar figure clinging to the scaffolding below “WHAT IN THE SEVEN MOTHERFECKING HELLS DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

Ren.

His heart stops, and he loses his balance. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as he plummets, the rain lashing his skin like a thousand needles, but is caught, abruptly by some invisible hand after only a short, sharp drop. Blood screams in his ears. His belly heaves, he feels like every bone in his body is rattling the flesh free of it. 

He drifts, slowly. Before grasping arms replace the crush of that invisible force, and a wrecked voice roars in his ear “YOU KRIFFING SON OF A NERF HERDER, HOW –DARE- YOU!”

The Marshall forces his eyes open.

Ren’s hair is still dented with sleep, his skin white as linen. He’d thrown on his tunic and leggings but they’re unbuttoned, flapping in the howling screech of wind around them. His cloak billows out behind him like a stream of smoke “You were trying to LEAVE me.”

It takes a moment for Hux’ stunned brain to catch up with the accusation. He’s pressed painfully hard against Ren, bound to his bare chest, his feet pulled just barely free of any kind of purchase on the ground. Suspended. Caught. He wonders why it feels so safe, here, when the knight’s voice is vowing a swift and painful DEATH. 

He licks chapped lips and croaks out “I wasn’t. Ren, I swear I-“

Ren’s lips are wet and cruel, his eyes wide and wild “I told you, I TOLD you, if you EVER-“

“REN.” 

The Marshall’s chill hands find Ren’s jaw, cupping them, making a chalice of that precious, ridiculous face “Ren, please.” He pushes the cold, wet slide of their noses together “...I...” he searches for a lie, but it seems he’s been bled of them, and all that’s left is the truth “I don’t remember.”

“That’s bantha spit!” Ren snarls, but the tightness in his shoulders recedes, just a touch. Hux winds his arms chokingly close about the knight’s neck, as though attempting to enfold the man, impossible though that is “I don’t. I swear, Ren. I don’t remember.” 

He presses the pads of two fingers to Ren’s full, quivering lip, shivering. The cold air cuts him to the bone “Look and see.”

Ren blinks, surprised. The blare of rolling pixels stutter and turn beside their faces, as the holo-board turns to its next advertisement. 

Hux feels the clumsy, tentative sweep of invisible hands claw into the forefront of his mind. After so many forays, he’s beginning to recognise the...unique scent, of Ren’s...force-magic. Perhaps the force is like water, and each brand has its own blend of minerals and chemicals in their makeup. Ren’s, he imagines, is rich and brittle. Like diluted blood. Citric, bold and sweet. 

Incorporeal eyes sweep about, scouring the blankness of the Marshall’s immediate memory. Then, swiftly, they retreat. Ren’s eyes meet his, confused, iris’ reduced to a soft, dark brown “...there’s nothing. You. You don’t remember.”

Hux nods, firmly, thumbs sweeping back and forth against the rasp of Ren’s unshaven cheeks “I TOLD you.” He exhales, and folds his limbs in an awkward bundle within the circle of the knight’s arms “I used to sleepwalk as a child.”

He fervently hoped that was all it was. It had to be. What other explanation was there to be had...?

Ren’s nostrils flare. One palm slides to grip the back of Hux’ neck, digging in, like the nip of a panther’s teeth against a wayward cub “How the karking feth did you even get up here?!”

The Marshall glances up at him, accusing “...how did you?”

“I flew.”

Hux blinks “You....flew.” he echoes, deadpan. He had a sneaking suspicion Ren did not mean that he had commandeered a speeder. Well, naturally not! And he could now add ‘airborne taxi’ to Ren’s seemingly endless list of mythic talents “Of course you did.”

He exhales, shakily, the spell broken. He aches, and it’s cold, and he’s quashing the urge to either panic or tantrum, or both “Can we get down now, please.” He grits out “Also, I’m naked. Have a ruddy care, you barbarian.”

The skyline disappears as Ren sweeps his cloak, angrily, up and around Hux’ body like a circus tent “Do not EVER do this again.” He growls, within its protective confines, as the material settles heavily “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

Hux wrinkles his nose. The cloak smells like burnt flesh and sweat. Has it ever been washed?!

The knight wraps his bearlike arms around Hux’ waist and subsumes him against his body, as though he could greedily stuff the man inside his own ribcage and keep him. 

Hux tucks his aching head beneath Ren’s chin and closes his eyes as they descend. He doesn’t want to see, anymore.

He hadn’t done this. Had he? How could he have? Hux wasn’t – he didn’t want that. Not ever. He was too stubborn to seek such an option. Had worked too hard, survived too much. This wasn’t his autonomy. This – he was not frightened. He couldn’t be. It was not allowed.

Canto Bight’s second sun is barely peeking over the horizon when Ren’s feet settle on the tiled balcony of what Hux assumes must be their suite balcony. The man can FLY. Hux resolves to freak the kriff out about THAT nugget, later. Much later.

They stood quietly for a long moment. The Marshall tipped his temple against Ren’s collar, and watched the broiling mass of energy creep up, up, up, behind the ragged spikes of buildings “It’s beautiful.”

Ren looked at him, taken aback. What? As an Arkanesian who lived on a planet of perpetual rain, he would always appreciate a clean, dry sunrise. Men of war should take peace where they found it, Hux supposed. 

That sun would’ve looked so much better bled dry and entombed in the womb of his Starkiller. Ah, alas. He mourned the death of his first true love. 

Ren, he realised after a moment. Was shaking.

Hux exhaled, wearily. Cuffed the ridiculous knight’s damp, bloodshot eyes “I’m sorry.” He cooed “I’m sorry. Ren. Come here.” He leant up, pressed his lips soundly against the deep cleft between Ren’s eyebrows “I won’t leave you.” He was surprised to find that he meant it “Not ever. Not if I can help it.” 

Not like they did. Not like they ALL did. He coveted this boy. Kylo Ren was his covenant and his religion, now. He worshipped here. 

Once inside, there was nothing for it but to allow the Supreme Leader total, unparalleled access to his mind, and Hux loathed it. But this parody, this farce of wellness had to END. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Will it hurt?” he asked, practically. 

Ren’s nostrils flared. Hux lay prostate on the bed, as though it was a plinth and he were on display “Not if you let me in. Don’t be such a coward.”

Hux nods, resentful and resigned. Ren presses a bare palm to his forehead. 

It doesn’t hurt, but it is deeply uncomfortable. Ren’s energy stretches and expands inside of him, creeping into every corner and expunging, searching. 

Occasionally, it trips, and scatters, spiking a jolt of pain up Hux’ spine.

Ren draws back a little, pale “It’s- like a minefield.”

The Marshall snorts derisively, ungrateful “I would appreciate just a little bit of elaboration, Supreme Leader.”

“There’s...” Ren chews on his lip, ridiculously “Like tracks, Force tracks. Laid out. Clusters, too. As if- someone trod back and forth inside your head.”

Hux feels his blood run cold “Are you telling me Snoke left Force bombs in my BRAIN?”

Ren shrugs hugely; it’s not terribly reassuring “Perhaps.”

Was it laid not for him, but for Ren, Hux wonders? Had the former Supreme Leader....foreseen, all of this? It was a deeply unsettling thought. Aloud, he said “Well that’s just kriffing wonderful.”

“If you trip them-“ Ren lays his palm back down against Hux’ skin “If the Force, even a whisper of it, trips them-“ he licks his lips “They fire. Burn you. Make you swell. Hence the fever.”

Hux feels a murmur of disquiet, because that does not entirely make sense. Not completely. But, he nods “Could they kill me?” 

Leather creaks as Ren’s gloved, free fist clenches “Yes.”

Silence.

“Why would he do that?” 

“Control.” Ren replies, quickly. 

“Mm.”

“I can drain them.” 

Hux shudders “Now...?”

“Now.”

The Marshall twists his pale fingers up in the white sheets, until his knuckles turn bloodless, indistinguishable from the pallor of the bed “Do it, then.”

It’s like the prick of pustules. It hurts, but – it feels – good. Like the draining of a thousand wounds. The Marshall hears a soft grunt of pleasure, and realises it’s come from him. He drifts, the process stretching outside of time. He feels – warm. Heady. Full of Ren, drunk on Ren. He wants to crawl inside of him. 

“...Hux? I. I think I’m finished.”

Hux, insanely, finds himself giggling. His head spins, giddy. He gropes for the Supreme Leader’s shoulders, drags the stupefied manchild close “That felt – nice.”

He winds his bony elbows tight around Ren’s neck, and closes his teeth around the knight’s lower lip, biting, then sucking, hard. His whole body is tingling. He realises, belatedly, that he’s painfully hard, tented against Ren’s thigh.

He pushes his tongue past Ren’s teeth, and grins at the low, answering rumble in the man’s chest “You’re wearing an awful lot of clothes for bed, Supreme Leader.”

Ren’s bulk bears down heavy, hot and clumsily eager over him, all warm spit and harsh hands “You’re very pliant when you’re grateful.”

The Marshall mouths across the bend of Ren’s jaw, and bites the bulbous give of his earlobe nastily “Do be quiet, Ren.” He noses that ridiculous ear, growling and impatient “You’re so much more attractive when your plush mouth is SHUT.”

Ren, stunningly, did as he was told. And said no more.


	13. Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which I give the boys some well-deserved TLC.

They were too tall for the bed. Ren’s cold feet kept dipping off the end of it, bruising as they were dragged back up. He growled each time it happened, and Hux bit the shell of his ear to draw his attention back. 

It was more of a grapple than an embrace. 

Ren seemed determined to map and squeeze every inch of Hux’ body, as if any corner that escaped his attention was somehow not his. The Marshall, horny and impatient, was far more interested in the immediate task at hand. Literally. 

He arched his back and pushed his length against the knight’s in a rough, grating slide, the friction sparking in equal measure frustration and pleasure. Ren made a high noise in the back of his throat, startling, lashes fluttering and pupils enormous. 

Hux wanted more of this. Hux wanted ALL of this. More of the strange dots littering Ren’s pale, oddly soft skin, stretched taut over hard lines of muscle. More of Ren’s heavy, dark cock, and more of the salty knots of his ebony hair. He had always wondered if Ren dyed the locks on his head. Now he had his answer. 

He snarled his bony fingers around both of them and squeezed, hard. Ren made a soft choking noise, and Hux bit the man’s chin, fondly “...Supreme Leader...”

He slid his teeth down to the undulating, engorged veins of Ren’s neck, and bit down slowly until the skin purpled. The knight’s body jolted, and he swelled in Hux’s grip. The Marshall stroked the knuckles of his free palm over the planes of Ren’s warm belly, soothing “Hush, Ren. Let me take care of you.”

The man made a harsh noise, like a sob. It was intoxicating. Having this much power, coiled tight beneath his hands, to pull at it and have it unravel. Ren could squash him like a bug. Snap him in two. But he wouldn’t. By now...he couldn’t.

It had been intolerably easy. All the boy wanted was to be commanded, held, and praised. To be given loyalty and never be told, no. It was sickening that nobody had been kind or foolish enough to do this for him before. But, Hux mused, as he slid again deliciously against Ren’s length, their loss was his bounty. 

He wouldn’t relinquish Ren now. He wasn’t sure he could, either. 

Ren’s nails dug into the backs of Hux’ knees, and slid up slowly, hot brands scaling his inner thighs. They found the soft give of the Marshall’s arse, and squeezed. Hux’ breath hitched and he huffed an appreciative laugh against Ren’s lips “Found our senses at last, have we...?”

Ren leered at him, eyes pitiless and full of warmth. He slid up onto one elbow, the other continuing to slide, up, up, endlessly up, over the dimple of Hux’ lower back and creeping up his spine “Put your hands behind your back.”  


The Marshall cocked an eyebrow, but drew his knees and ankles obediently up to sit astride the wide bowl of Ren’s pelvis. He found his balance, then settled his wrists neatly against the base of his spine, in a loose imitation of a binding. 

Ren curled his fingers around Hux’ neck. The Marshall blinked, breathing deep and even, watching. Waiting. Ren squeezed, gently. Watched the blood empty then fill the column of the man’s flesh.

~It’d be so easy.~

Hux drops his chin and flicks his tongue against Ren’s retreating fingertips as the knight lets him go, salacious. Ren continues, silently ~So easy. All of that immense mind, your plots, your schemes....all I have to do, is squeeze, and it trickles away.~

The Marshall takes Ren’s thumb between his teeth and sucks, wetly “I can think of better things for you to squeeze, sweet Ren.”

The knight’s cheeks split in a rare grin, and he topples them sideways. 

Ren could make fantastic use of his clumsy paws when he put his mind to it, it turned out.

An indeterminate time later, Hux lay panting as if he had just run a tetrathon, ribs heaving and belly tacky with he and Ren’s....enthusiasm. The hot brand of the knight’s temple and dank hair was pressed against his collar, the man’s skull immensely heavy. The Marshall hummed, fingers snarling and unsnarling in Ren’s hair, and extolled breathlessly “Isn’t the Force FANTASTIC...?”

Ren lifted his head and rested his chin on Hux’ chest, expression tame but mildly perturbed “You’ve certainly changed your tune.”

Hux snorted “I do not, nor have I ever had, a tune.” He flicked a dismissive, pale wrist, haughty “I dance to the beat of my OWN drums. My own. Do you hear me?!”

Ren affixed him with a disdainful, searching look “Are you drunk?”

“I’m FORCE drunk.” Hux prodded the tip of Ren’s crooked nose for emphasis “There’s a difference.” 

It was the best way to describe the sensation. Ever since Ren’s little...healing session, his entire body and brain felt toe-curlingly ecstatic, about everything. It had been quite some time since he’d experienced an opiate high, but it was certainly similar to that. Sans the headache. Which was WONDERFUL. 

Suddenly, Hux’ stomach emitted a loud, forlorn growl. He blinked. Ren blinked “Oh.”

The knight sat up abruptly, and swung his feet to the floor. Hux indulged himself in the full, expansive view this afforded him “What are you doing?”

“Ordering room service.”

...well this had gone from the divine to the ridiculous in approximately 5 tics flat. 

For once, the Marshall forewent the snide commentary and slumped back, exhaling “Oh, good. I’m simply ravenous.”

This was catastrophically domestic. Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order and Grand Master of the Knights of Ren. Reduced to a glorified secretary. It tickled Hux pink. Ren shot him a moody glare, and Hux blanched. Caught. 

The Marshall yawned enormously “...what’s the time?”

“Eight rotations.”

“We still have awhile before we must return to the Retribution, then.” Hux scrubbed his face and sat up, sprawling an arm across Ren’s shoulders as though he was a throne “And the First Order’s coffers are still somewhat depleted.”

He looped his arms around Ren’s belly, skating his nails against the hard planes of muscle there. Set his teeth against the back of the knight’s neck “Let’s go to the casino.”

“You’re a gambler?” Ren asks, surprised. Hux smirks, tugs the damp curtain of hair at the nape of the knight’s neck back, so he can see the bruises there “Only when I cannot be a thief.”

Food was brought, by a catering droid, thankfully. Hux’ mouth watered, and he descended on the banquet with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Perhaps Ren’s magic had unseated some deep truth in himself. He felt hollowed, vessel-like. As if he could fuck and eat for hours and never be truly satisfied. All his pains have receded. And although he had barely slept, he felt alive with energy.

Ren watched him devour the roast breast of some poor, unfortunate bird with amusement. Hux scowled at him, wiping grease from his nose and licking his fingers, daring the knight to comment. 

Instead, Ren lifted the velveteen bulb of a luridly ripe Corellian peach to his lips, and watched Hux’ teeth bite into it, spilling juice “You look better.”

“I am better.” The Marshall swallowed hugely and licked his lips, snatching another bite from the ravaged fruit “Thanks to the ministrations of my generous, most revered and cherished, Supreme Leader.”

Ren snorts “Flatterer.”

“Always.”

Ren feeds him until he feels thick and heavy with fruits and meats and seeds, and he finally refuses another bite. The knight shrugs, selects a plate of Calamarian caviar without looking, and tips the entire serving into his mouth. Hux’ wrinkles his nose “You disgust me.”

Ren grins at him, unrepentant. Hux wrinkles his nose “Go use the refresher. You stink.”

“So do you.”

“Well then. Be quick.”

Ren’s face falls, disappointed. He storms off in a huff, thwarted. The Marshall smirks, and congratulates himself. He can only indulge the boy so much, after all. Mustn’t spoil him. 

Once fed, watered, and dressed in fine but modest clothes for their covert mission, the Marshall beckoned his Supreme Leader over to the vanity “Sit. Stay.” He glances around, spies the offending object he seeks thrown to the floor halfway across the room “Bring me the comb, you oversized gremlin.”

It floats, obediently, into Hux’ waiting fingers. He parts the heavy, wet sea of Ren’s locks, and begins to comb them, studiously, into a single high tail. 

Ren’s eyes slip closed and he murmurs “You like my hair.” With muted smugness. 

Hux rolls his eyes and tugs harshly on a particularly stiff knot, in retribution “What of it? It’s just about the only part of you that does what I tell it to.”

Ren’s teeth flash in the mirror, the grimy pervert “Not the ONLY part.”

“HEATHEN, Ren.” The Marshall emits a faux gasp, and cuffs the knight upside the back of the head, without any true sting “I am scandalised.”

There were several long tics of quiet. Only the soft snick and slide of the comb through Ren’s hair interrupted them. 

“May I ask you something, Supreme Leader...?”

“Anything.” Ren said, lowly and content. Hux noted with some amusement that he seemed even more tame when the Marshall had hands in his hair, than when he had hands on his cock. 

“How did you convince the girl to come to your side?”

Ren inhaled sharply, but did not open his eyes “I told her a story.”

“How quaint. A true story?”

“Yes.”

The comb catches the shell of one of Ren’s enormous ears “A story about Ben Solo?”

Ren’s brow twitches as though pained “Yes.”

Hux chuckles; his throat isn’t used to it, and it comes out bitter and coarse “You mustn’t shun it, you know. That old title of yours. If you cannot speak something by name it holds power over you. That’s an old Arkanesian proverb.”

Ren snorts derisively “Says the man who refuses to go by his own forename.”

Hux counters, aghast “It’s an atrocious forename.”

“So is...” Ren’s eyes fly open, catching Hux’ in the mirror “Ben.”

Hux lays the comb down carefully as though it’s a warrior’s blade. Takes the knight’s chin in a firm, gentle grip and tilts Ren’s face up to look at him. 

“...Ben.” he echoes, rolling the name over his tongue, and watches the shy corners of a lost boy come scrambling into his embrace “Ben, Ben.” Kylo Ren’s breath shudders, and the last shreds of him become Hux’ to keep “You’re right. It’s – very – dull.”

He presses warm, smooth lips to Ren’s chastely “Ren suits you just fine.”

The boy, and the man stare at him as if he’s the entire galaxy made flesh. Hux takes a long moment to revel in it. 

“But Ren is not my name.” His Supreme Leader continues, eventually, somewhat breathless “Ren is my title.”

Hux takes the comb up and resumes his work “...Kylo, then?” he tuts “I’m not terribly sure I like Kylo. What does it mean?”

“He Who is Risen.” Ren murmurs, with religious fervour. Hux tugs the last snarls of wayward hair up into the clutch of locks fisted in his palm, and loops a long length of silver twine around it.

“Appropriate. Did you choose it?”

“I did.”

He tucks the twine in a tight circle and nods, satisfied. Ren’s jaw, ears and neck look wonderfully exposed like this. 

“Armitage?”

The Marshall jerks and snarls as if struck, seeing red “WHAT.”

Ren stands, abruptly. Takes his shoulders “What does Armitage mean?” for once, it’s a question. Not a demand. And because of that, the Marshall grudgingly answers.

“...pilgrim, or wanderer. One Who Walks Alone.” It was rooted in the High Arkanesian word, hermitagé, meaning a place of pilgrimage. It was outdated and stupid and Hux had been teased mercilessly because of it. 

“Your Mother chose it.” Ren passed his fingers through Hux’ hair, tracing the cropped, shorn edges at his temples, curiously. 

“She did.”

“Laurentia.”

Hux snapped at him like an angry rodent “I told you to stop MEDDLING, you disobedient brute.” Then, returning smartly to his line of interrogation “What was the story, that you told the girl...?”

Ren’s eyes darkened. His coarse palm slid up to settle in their usual place around Hux’ neck, pressed to the lull of the Marshall’s heartbeat. Hux wasn’t sure if it was about possession, or comfort, or both.

“It was about a boy who was betrayed by his own blood.” The knight licked his lips, looking straight through Hux as though he was no longer there “A boy whose Master, Uncle and Teacher sought to strike him down. But the boy prevailed, and tore down all that the traitor loved.”

How poetic, Hux thought. Especially when in cruder terms, that fething bastard Skywalker had tried to murder his nephew. What a kriffing hypocrite. Light side, Hux’ pert ARSE. 

The Marshall smirked, looped his arms around Ren’s neck and continued the tale “...then foolishly joined a despotic Space Cult run by a pensioner in a bathrobe.” The knight blinked, returning to the present with a scowl “This story sounds startlingly familiar.”

Ren growled, suspecting Hux was mocking him. And he was. Somewhat “And then, he met a devastatingly handsome soldier with shining emerald eyes-“

“Your eyes aren’t emerald, Hux.” Ren interrupts, very rudely. 

“Silence.” The Marshall presses a teasing finger to Ren’s lips “With shining emerald eyes and hair the colour of fire, and they-“ he trips over those three, despicable, unsaid words “Came together, and ruled the galaxy, and lived happily ever after.”

Ren stares at him, lost for words. Hux preens in victory. Ren says, concerned “Did you hit your head while climbing that building?”

The Marshall is, perhaps, still just a tad Force-drunk “I’m attempting romance, Ren.” 

Kylo Ren wonders, not for the first time, if the man he’s chosen for himself is entirely sane “Well, don’t. You’re creeping me out.”

Hux rolls his eyes. His wit and charm was evidently doomed to be wasted in this...

...whatever the kriff this was.


	14. Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which Kylo Ren concludes that one sweaty tussle in the sheets makes him Space Casanova. Hux wonders if he may, possibly, have made a grave miscalculation.
> 
> I must say this chapter is another favourite of mine!

“Blue, or green?”

Hux held the two garments up to his chest, addressing himself as much as Ren. After all, there was little use in asking the opinion of a man whose fashion sense consisted mostly of black hemp, and neglecting to wash. 

His Supreme Leader was sprawled inelegantly on his back on the bed, fully dressed but for his bare feet. His neck was crooked painfully over the cascading bottom of the mattress. 

He was managing, somehow, to convey disdain even as his upside-down features turned puce with blood “Red.”

The Marshall sniffed, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in the silken lapel of the left-hand tunic “Never. Red is too garish. And, it clashes with my hair.”

Ren growled deeply, and flailed his enormous, haphazard limbs as he scrambled onto all fours “Does it kriffing MATTER, you vain nerfrod?!”

“Appearances are important, Ren.” Hux explained, patient and condescending, plucking some dainty lint from the seam of the pale cerulean. Yes, the blue would do nicely-

“...green.”

The Marshall shot the knight a soured look as Ren’s lips crooked. Contrary little brat. Oh, very well, then. The green. 

He yanked a pair of pale silver leggings on with tan, knee-high leather boots, and no undershirt. Canto Bight was artificially balmy indoors during the day, and Hux would literally rather be caught dead and decomposing than with damp armpits. UNLIKE some.

He thrust a hand through his hair and turned to face Ren as he buttoned the top of his collar. The man sat hefty, thighs spread wide, sprawling like some contented vulture on its perch. His cheeks were dimpled, merciless. 

The Supreme Leader raised a pale hand, fist clenched, forefinger angled upward, and twirled it in a neat circle. 

Hux snorted “What do I look like, a Yogian ballerina?!”

~Don’t make me make you.~

The Marshall’s collarbones and ribs heaved, resigned. Was his whole existence now to be one, long surrender...? It was becoming exhausting. If only he had been born with biceps the size of bison, like Ren had. THEN who would be twirling like a karking nancy, mm?!

He turned neatly, once to the left, then to the right, teeth gritted “Satisfied, you drooling pervert...?” if only Snoke could see the untoward uses his apprentice was putting his powers to. No doubt he’d be horrified. Hux fervently hoped so. 

Good riddance to bad rubbish, as his Mother used to say. 

Ren’s lowered eyes were dark with mirth. He crooked his still raised finger, beckoning. The Marshall huffed, irritated, and stepped forward. The knight rolled his eyes, and a transparent wave of sheer POWER tripped Hux’ feet and sent him careening into the patch of carpet between Ren’s thighs.

The Supreme Leader caught his Marshall before he could collide with his chest. Hux fumed, white with rage. A vein pulsed hard in his temple.

Ren slid his palms over Hux’ ribs, ensconcing them, and then pushed his long nose into the Marshall’s belly. He inhaled. Hux shuddered in answer, and swallowed “Not tight enough.” The knight murmured, deeply.

When, exactly, in the long, heated moments between here and the night previous, had Hux relinquished control of this...thing, between them? He felt a cold, hard, stony sensation curl deep in his gut. 

Presently he exhaled, aggravated “Any tighter and I’d lose a limb to necrosis.”

“Mm.” The knight drew back, the dark fan of his lashes flicking up “I like you in green.” Somehow, it sounded like a command; then “Kiss me.”

Hux frowned, and felt a sudden and sharp sense of being lost, cast adrift in himself. As if he was held suspended between one immense space, and another. Two foreign countries.

He leant down, and pressed warm, dry lips slowly against the knight’s forehead “Time to go, Ren.”

They keep their silence and their peace during the long, slow walk to the elevator. Hotel, restaurants, casino, gym, medical centre, all were part of one enormous complex. One could only travel up, or down. The casino was on the ground floor. Everything blared with an artificial cycle of light and air that was dizzying. 

Hux keeps pace easily with Ren, noting smugly that the elevated heel on his new boots brings him, finally, to the knight’s level. Petty? Absolutely. Necessary? Kriff, yes. 

The doors swish closed with a sigh, and Hux is only a little surprised when Ren curls his fingers around the Marshall’s biceps and slams him into the wall. Ironic, he notes, dryly, as the knight tips his chin and mouths at him with greedy, sloppy abandon. He started this, and now, competitive as always, Ren seems keen to finish it. 

Well. He can’t fault the boy for his enthusiasm. Crowded between muscle and plate and rumpled though he is, it’s not – so bad. 

Just as he’s busied himself mourning the fact that even Ren’s TONGUE is bigger than his (and that his tonsils, for some reason, taste liked spiced vanilla) the doors slide open and there’s a startled squeak.  


Kriffing, karking, son of a motherfething bantha’s rancid ARSEHOLE.

The Marshall’s ears burn. He squirms in Ren’s grip as an elderly, utterly mortified Toydarian couple and one morbidly curious, snappily dressed humanoid in a suit crowd into the elevator beside them. 

Ren pays them no mind. Barely seems to register their presence, in fact, and smirks as he follows Hux’ swollen lip when he tears it away, snarling. 

The elevator pings, cheerfully. Hux loathes it. 

The Marshall continues to twist in Ren’s claws and projects from within his mind as loudly as he can: ~KYLO REN IF YOU DON’T RELEASE ME THIS MOMENT I WILL SLAY YOU AND –ALL- YOUR UNBORN SONS, DO YOU HEAR ME!!!~

Ren’s eyebrow twitches, and his smirk becomes nothing but a slash of teeth and ruby lips. The Marshall inhales, sharply. Alright, then. 

He allows his right ankle to drop, sharply, then slams the hilt of his bony kneecap hard up between the knight’s legs. Right on target. 

Ren bites back a howl and drops him. Hux rubs his knee, ruefully, and leers ~I WARNED you, you savage! Don’t you dare fuss over this!~

Aloud he says, sweetly, pressing a palm to Ren’s shoulder “...something the matter, Supreme Leader?”

Ren contemplates a myriad of executions, and the Marshall grins, pressing a victorious kiss to the man’s chalky cheek.

The doors are open, again. There’s a soft, affirmative CLICK and blinding flash of light from the handheld device in the sharply-dressed humanoid’s hand, then he flees.

Ren rubs his eyes like a sleepy child, scrubbing bright dots from his iris’ as Hux pinches his nose, wishing, yet again, for death. The paparazzi. How could he have forgotten those infernal, slime-fisted gossip mungerers from the Central Rim...?

Incensed, he snatched Ren’s wrist like he was a wayward pup and stormed towards the casino floor “You will pay for this.” Then, as an afterthought “Supreme Leader.”

The sad reality was that, in all likelihood, they both would pay for this. 

The casino floor was bustling, despite the relatively early hour. The air was pungent with smokes of varying weight, sickly sweet to sour, and the air rang with the clack of die and pop of bubbles. Though both dressed down, they could hardly do anything but cut a striking swathe through the heaving mass. The average height of any sentient being galaxy-wide was 5 fifes and 6 increments. Both he and Ren stood well over 6 fifes, Ren pushing 7.

Hux elbowed a scantily-dressed Tw’ilekian aside, and took up imperious residence at the central dice table. Ren slid flush behind him, the scatter of colour refracting in his dark eyes.

“Ben Solo used to play at dice. And cards.” He said, quiet suddenly. Hux glanced up at him. The knight was beginning to mimic the Marshall’s accent and syntax, just a little. Hux wasn’t sure how he felt about that “He always won.”

Hux smirked, amused “Did he, indeed? He would have been exceedingly useful to me.”

“His Mother always disapproved.”

“Tell me something, Ren.” Hux tapped a few commands into the credit-keeper device strapped to his wrist, running a few swift calculations “Have you ever NOT had someone telling you what to do?”

“No.”

“And now?”

The knight’s eyes narrow “You’re a bossy motherfether.”

Hux grins, and rattles a pair of die between his thin fingers “You WOUND me. I advise you. I am but a humble vassal.”

“You’re a manipulative grass-snake.”

“You love it.” The Marshall cupped the bright gold, metal die in his palms, and held them out to Ren like an offering “I would dearly like it if you showed me another magic trick.”

Ren stared at the die, eyes enormous, suddenly pale.

Hux cocked his head “...Ren?”

The knight’s damp fingertips shook, and he pressed his thumb shakily against the smooth curve of the cool metal objects, settled like fat grapes in Hux’ hand. The Marshall stared, lost “Ren.”

The die roll obediently over at Ren’s touch, and he exhales. Shakes his head as if freeing it of some ghost. Gives the Marshall a surly nod. Message received and understood. 

What followed could only be described as an absolute slaughter.

A crowd gradually began to swell around them, of course. How could anybody ignore the relentless wins upon wins that Lady Luck showered upon the two, bent, crowlike figures gleefully calling and tossing at table 2?

“Two sixes!” Hux called, Ren’s palm hot between his shoulder blades as he tossed the die again. They flew, fell, slammed. Five, and a one. Then flipped, deftly, on their bellies. Six and six. My, my. 

“Four fours.” Ren murmured, and Hux repeated the call, with reckless enthusiasm, to the utterly overwhelmed dealer. 

And so it went on.

Eventually, the Marshall’s voice began to crack with thirst, and he relinquished their die. Gathered their winning chips with a sweep of his arms, then began to stack them neatly, shivering a little, drunk on victory. A hundred thousand. Five hundred thousand. Two million. Six.

Honestly? Were he a man of less dignity, he’d probably have whipped Ren’s trousers down and blown him where he stood. Gods ALIVE. They were rich!

As it was, he merely gleefully tipped the chips into a waiting retainer, and smacked his lips “My, the Fortunes smile upon us this day!” he pinched the lobe of Ren’s ear, grinning madly “Stay here. I’ll go cash our winnings and fetch you a drink, Supreme Leader.”

He sweeps past swathes of suspicion and resentment, head held high, and dumps the chips at the counter “Transfer these to this account,” he flashed the device on his wrist “And pour three triple Circadian Sunsets, good sir. One for yourself.”

He’s partway through mentally drafting the structure of Mooneater base, considering the implications of takeon armour plating over traditional carbon blends, when a tall, pale Arlesian male leans against the bar. Very close.

“Good morrow, Marshall.” He says, in that delicate, husky tone all Arlesian’s covet. 

“Do I know you?” Hux snaps, irritated. The man’s perfume is so pungent it seems to creep up his nose and spew powder into his brain. 

A thick swathe of glitter is pasted harshly across the Arlesian’s eyelids, caked and glimmering like fool’s gold “No. But you could.”

Hux blinks, then barks out a laugh as he accepts his Circadian Sunsets from the barman “Oh!” how silly “I am sorry, you must forgive me. But if I needed to catch something I would go fishing.” He lifted his lips and sneered “Whore.”

The Arlesian blinks, pert mouth falling open. He shakes, plump fingers curling up on the bar, leaving smears of glitter and grit “It takes one to know one.”

The Marshall flinches, and his blood runs cold. Across the acres of hearts and minds and bodies, Kylo Ren’s head snaps up, and his eyes narrow. 

The endless swathes of razor-sharp, suspended glass crystals bedecking the candelabra and chandeliers above their heads began, gently, at first, to rattle.


	15. Espousal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In which the first instalment of this Trilogy of Trash comes to its thrilling conclusion!!!
> 
> Snoke’s ring is canon! Here’s a link if y’all are interested: bit.ly/2FhDRHr. The castle on Mustafar is also the structure referred to in the prologue, of course.

There’s a hollow ringing in the Grand Marshall’s ears. The clink and shudder of glass above him accompanies it like melody to his wretched harmony. 

He feels paralysed. The word caught him sideways and tossed his stomach inside out, as it always did. Turned his heart to stone and the inside of his mouth to parched leather. He didn’t breath. Couldn’t.

~Hux.~

He feels, rather than hears, the insistent beckon ~Come here.~

His feet turn and march with neat obedience, even as his stunned brain scrambles to follow. He remembers, barely, to check the device at his wrist to confirm payment. Yes, good. Focus on the details. The task at hand. Transfer complete. Well, then.

There has never been a time in his life when he did not meet Ren’s gaze. Until now. He keeps his eyes laid stubbornly on the jut of the man’s dark knees, at the thick ribs of black material there, and counts the lines, heart pounding.

He feels raw. Naked. Small, again. Transported to a time and a place where there was no refuge, none, not anywhere. He fought the urge to bolt. 

Ren’s broad, bony hand draws his tunic back from his knees, and pats his thighs once, twice. The Marshall’s head snaps up, eyes widening. No. Surely-

It’s quiet. A vapid hush, full of eyes. Blood roars in Hux’ ears as the Supreme Leader says, deep and delicate “Take a seat, Grand Marshall.”

Hux nearly swallows his own tongue; it feels swollen, thick, fat “....my thanks, Supreme Leader, but I must respectfully-“

“Take” the words seem to expand, fill the room, and repeat and repeat and repeat, endlessly “A seat.”

The Marshall strode over and sat, ramrod straight and still as death, on the Supreme Leader’s lap. His head is full of white noise, of expanding thickness like Rylothian cotton. Ren slides the python and pistons of his arms around Hux’ waist, and wrenches him close. 

“Hux.” Ren’s voice drips into his left ear, thick and sweet like tar molasses “You will look at me.”

The Grand Marshall doesn’t. Ren takes his chin and drags it up “You detest that word.” His dark eyes flit across the planes of Hux’ face, and he feels his skin burn and blister under the man’s grip “You will tell me why.”

Unthinkingly Hux shakes his head “I won’t.”

Silence. 

~But I could show you.~

He inhales, sharply. Steels himself and focuses on the fragmented collection of thoughts and feelings, spiralled about that one word: whore.

Ebony wood, and curtains the colour of bloodberry. A wet, slimy tongue against his ear, fat fingers curling around his wrist, dragging his pale hands out while he squeezes his eyes so tightly shut he fears his eyeballs will bleed. 

His own teeth, biting down, hard, tearing chunks from that wrinkled, blotted skin. A falsetto shriek. The pound of his feet on tiles, slipping. Falling. 

He’d run to his Father, in tears. Brendol Hux had laughed. And sneered “You little whore, Armitage. Perhaps you should encourage him, gain us his loyalty.” He turned back to his papers “Feth knows you’re of little use to me otherwise.”

Perhaps it had been naive....but until that moment, little Armitage had never felt really, truly, alone. Raw and unprotected, with nobody but himself in the galaxy to turn to. 

The next time it happened, he’d cut the man’s cock to ribbons with his vibroblade, salvaged from his Father’s shaver. The beating that followed nearly killed him. It had been worth it.

The very same vibroblade still sits, loyal and hot and ever-ready, against his wrist, now. 

There’s an immense, shattering sound. A cacophony of breaking glass and shrieks and wails, the snick of a thousand blades flying past his ears. The Marshall’s eyes fly open. He didn’t know they were closed. 

The Arlesian prostitute begins to make a terrible, gargling noise. Hux shifted, craning his neck over Ren’s dark head to get a better look. 

The man’s face was purpling. Large, cruel chunks of crystal and metal were digging slowly into his body. Everywhere. Some small and fine, some large and crooked. It was not quick. From the burble of cerulean blood bubbling up on his lips, it was clear some shards had infiltrated the creature’s single lung. 

“....dear Gods! Somebody, call a medic!”

The Marshall glanced down, settling back into the circle of Ren’s arms with a long exhale. The knight seemed to be paying the chaos little attention, his gaze steady. Set unblinking against Hux’s own. 

The Marshall’s lips curl upwards, and he pushes some few fine hairs back off Ren’s forehead “You truly are a sweet boy.”

Ren exhaled, and they settled back together to watch events unfold like a day at the races. The spin and cry of medical droids. The frantic wails of machinery, the horrified gasps of onlookers. Ren’s hands were clamped like binders around Hux’ wrists. 

His thumbs swept backwards and forwards, rasping at the fine skin there in an idle, lazy sweep “From now on, nobody shall hurt you but me, Hux.”

To Ren, probably, this sounds like some kind of epic declaration. His grip tightens until Hux’ bones creak and his veins wither. The Marshall shoots the knight a look of muted alarm “A most comforting thought.” 

He crooks his thighs as though to slide from Ren’s grasp, but the knight’s fingers flinch in warning. Hux sighs, defeated. Reaches over and snatches up a tumble of discarded die from the nearby table, ignoring the mess and noise around them.

He holds the soft, cool curl of the metal diamonds up to Ren’s lips, cocking his head with a smirk “And what number shall the die fall on next, I wonder, Supreme Leader...?”

The knight pushes his hand away. Curls his fingers over the Marshall’s, closing them carefully around the die. Then, he lifts Hux’ knuckles to his wet lips, eyes black and burning “Whatever number the Grand Marshall desires.”

Hux shudders. Well. Kark it if THAT didn’t go straight to his traitorous cock “Hmmmm. Sixty six, then.”

The die is cast. 

“Would you look at that!”

Six and six. Well. 

The cold tip of Ren’s nose, wet like a dogs, presses against his neck “You must have the power of prophesy, like sages of old.”

“I must indeed!” Hux concedes, gleefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies a discreet row of Canto-Bightian guards filing into the upper echelons of the Casino floor. They swarmed and fanned out like fat, grey gnats.

Ren’s head turns like a vulture to regard them, also, face impassive. Hux slips neatly from his grasp and presses a palm into the crook of the knight’s elbow, tugging “We seem to have overstayed our welcome. Come, Ren.”

His Supreme Leader follows disgruntled but lamblike, thankfully. 

They almost make it. The capped toe of Hux’ immaculate right boot is just gracing the threshold of the Casino floor, when an enormous shadow, large and wider even than Ren, falls over them. The harsh glare of the entry-hall lights withdraw to pinpricks. 

“Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, and Grand Marshall Armitage Hux, of the First Order.” A high-pitched voice barks, from behind the enormous bulk of his J’tolkien guard. Troll-like creatures, all brawn, no brain. 

Perhaps Ren’s great, great Grandmother had been one...?

“You will come with us!” The voice squeaks, cracking. 

Hux scoffs, incredulous, fingertips clenching in the crook of Ren’s arm “I rather think we won’t.” He replies, haughty. 

The Casino Manager, who is tiny, plump and a fascinating shade of purple (natural, or was he just cross...? Impossible to tell) stomped his minute feet and howled “You can’t get away with this, you fascist piece of poodoo! This is blatant robbery! Your magic DOG used his trickery to cheat the House!”

Hux bent over, smiling sweetly (or so he thought; to the layman, it would look more like the sort of leer a butcher would give a slab of meat), and said coldly “And you’re going to stop us....are you?”

Ren’s fingers find the back of his neck and stroke, then squeeze, distractedly. The scatter of metal and glass strewn to the floor minutes ago begin, with shy foreboding, to rise from the floor. Hux straightens up, lip curling “Well, you filthy little bantha turd. Are you going to stop us?!”

Frantically, the Casino Manager shakes his head. It more than likely saves his life.

They sweep away, in tandem. Twin pillars of power, impenetrable, immune. They step into the stark, perpetual twilight that blanketed the city, out, out, pacing the long walk to the shuttle ports with biting strides. They don’t speak. 

What meagre belongings they had brought to their room had already been transferred to the sleek, ebony shuttle that awaited them patiently at docking ramp 94. The mouth of the shuttle dropped open, with a sharp hiss, as they approached. Like a gaping mouth.

Hux’ heart was in his throat. His senses were on FIRE. He shook with the immense ease of their crime, the give of the galaxy bending to their will. 

As soon as the door slipped closed, he jumped at Ren’s bulbous torso, growling, tearing at his collar “Did you SEE that?!” their noses and teeth slammed together, and Ren grunted as the Marshall bit his lip, hard “Did you see it! You were marvellous! I was marvellous!” Ren’s stunned, useless limbs finally responded, catching and holding his weight “You sensational son of a nerf-herder, Ren.”

Ren’s features grappled with themselves, awkwardly, before settling on a bemused, overbright half-smirk. Hux kissed him “We can do anything we want. Take anything we want.” He cupped the man’s stupid face and squeezed it, brutally, beguiled “There’s nothing you can’t do. Nobody to tell you, no.”

He was panting, breathless. Hard against the heave of Ren’s belly, material rasping. Ren’s cupped hands squeeze against the curve of the Marshall’s arse. Hux hitches, and noses the Supreme Leader’s ear, grinning madly “I want to see you unleashed. I want to see what it DOES to the galaxy.”

It’s true. This. All of this. With Ren. He wants it. 

The knight presses the sharp juts of his face into Hux’ neck, exhaling hotly, dampening the skin there “Anything...I want.”

The Marshall leans back, tucks the rampant cascade of dark hair behind the knight’s ridiculous ears “Yes, Ren.” He replies, low and honeyed, relinquishing himself, finally, to a total surrender “Anything you want.”

Sometimes, you have to fold, to beat the House. 

Ren’s breath shudders like a dying beast as he bears Hux’ over to the narrow, retractable bridge-cot and slams it down, horizontal “You won’t tell me no.”

The Marshall shivers gently, traces the jut of bone behind Ren’s ears as the man tugs and tears at their clothes like he’s rending metal “Never. How could I...?”  
Hux lifts his hips as his belt snaps clean in two and his leggings are yanked, seams splitting, to pool sullenly around his ankles “You won’t ever leave me.”

The Marshall sighs. Presses a harsh nail into the knight’s quivering lips and dipping eyes “Dear Ren.” He slides crooked fingers down the fine trail of dark hair at the man’s navel “What in Hells name would be the point in that? What would I BE without you?”

For a long moment, the only sound in the hollow confines of the shuttle is ragged breathing, and the tang and leak of sweat and saliva in the still air.  


“...nobody.” Ren growls, voice hitching and cracking like a faulty transmission “Nobody. You’d be nothing. NOTHING, Hux.”

The Grand Marshall meets his eyes and nods, gravely. 

Ren clambers with some difficulty up onto the narrow cot, snarling his fingers under Hux’ knees and lifting them roughly “I have something for you.”

Hux blinks. Pardon...? Now?! He rolls his eyes, stuttering as Ren bears down between his legs “Let me guess: in your robes? Is that a lightsaber on your belt, or are you merely happy to see me...?”

The knight freezes. Shoots him a dark, sullen look. Hux licks the protuberant bulb of Ren’s ear, placating “Not in the mood for games? Very well. I’m listening. What do you have for me?”

The knight looks, suddenly and starkly, almost nervous. A cool sweat breaks on his brow. Hux frowns.

“Give me your hand.” Ren bites out harshly, overly-loud. Hux extends a sweaty palm, exasperated “No.” Ren barks, fretful and angry “Your left hand.”

The Marshall’s eyebrows shoot upwards towards his hairline. He props himself up on one pale, bony elbow, and holds out his left hand, bemused. 

Ren fumbles in the folds of his cloak, retrieving a small, round object. Glinting gold and black as pitch. Hux’ eyes widen “Is that-!”

Supreme Leader Snoke’s signet ring. Enormous and ornate. Hux’ heart jumped into his throat and flooded his ears. What the....what...?

“I took it from his corpse.” Ren clarified, rather unnecessarily; Hux rather doubted it had been a kriffing Apprentice Day Present “It. Doesn’t fit me.”

Oh. OH. 

Ren’s chin did that endearing wobble-clench thing it always did when he was incredibly nervous. And how, exactly, did Hux now know that about him...?

...kriffing Hells. 

“Well?” the Marshall lifted his chin, imperiously, feigning impatience “What are you waiting for, you hulking fool? Put it on me.”

Ren snatched Hux’ pale hand from the air with clumsy aggression, and rams the circle of metal onto the Marshall’s forefinger. It stuck, fast. Hux winced “Try the fourth one.”

It was somewhat gratifying that he at least had fatter fingers than SNOKE, the spindly old pervert. This time, the jewel fit perfectly. The Marshall flexed his fingers, experimental, eyes bright. 

Ren got him a gift. A very nice gift. Well, now. What did this mean...?

Possession, certainly. Fealty? The Marshall hoped so. Ren was turning his fingers over, curious as a kit, eying the fit “You have such dainty hands. Like insect legs.” He pressed the lengths of their fingers together, pushing Hux’ back towards his wrist, painfully “I bet they sound wonderful when they snap.”

Hux snorted “Please tell me you had this steam-cleaned before assaulting me with it.” The thought of it retaining Snoke’s sweat, blood, and the stink of Ren’s pocket was too much to bear “...is this pure gold? It’s heavy.”

The knight nodded, solemn “The stone is obsidian. Mined from the foundations of Lord Vader’s castle on Mustafar.”

...oh. A very, VERY nice gift...indeed. 

“What do the markings mean?” the Marshall asked, for once, without disdain. 

Ren looked pleased “They’re glyphs from the writings of the four sages of Dwartii.”

The Marshall cocked his head “What do they say?” silence “Ren?” more, stubborn silence “You’re not going to tell me, are you.”

Ren’s grinned, triumphant “No.” And he pushed Hux back, flush against the cot. 

They slide together, bones smashing into soft flesh, inelegant and harsh, and desperate. Ren was all tongue and teeth. Clenching hands and half-starved groans. He bears down on Hux like he wants to consume him. Hux lets him. Slides insipid fingers into Ren’s hair and tugs, hard, whenever the knight displeases him. 

Ren squeezes the curve of his arse bruisingly, and growls, rutting , eager; the Marshall growls and snatches the knight’s wrist “Fingers first.”

Ren blinks, eyes doe-brown “Fingers?”

Hux chuckles, bitter, but fond “Yes, Ren.” He presses his lips to the knight’s dank temple “Fingers. As you have on so many occasions pointed out, you’re big. And I’m small.” He exhales, breathing hard “There’s rough sex, and then there’s ritual suicide.”

Ren’s ears go scarlet. The Marshall moans and throws a forearm over his own eyes, aghast “PLEASE stop blushing whenever I use that word.” 

He was about to proffer his arse to the most intimidating, clumsy virgin in the whole galaxy. More fool him. If only Brendol could see him now. 

Ren wraps wet lips around the new stone adorning Hux’ finger “....fingers, then.”

The knight’s fingers are bony, cool and coarse, and possibly the best kriffing thing Hux has ever felt in his entire LIFE. He squirms, cot creaking beneath his aching spine “T-that’s it.” His fingers stutter in the knight’s soft hair “Ren...kriffing HELLS.” 

Ren is watching him like he could eat him alive; he cooes, encouraging, runs the snarl of his front teeth over his own lip “There.”

The knight’s fingers retreat, leaving him feeling oddly empty, bereft. Every bone in his body is shaking. Ren noses the tender scald of Hux’ abused neck “You belong to me.”

The Marshall swallows, and nods “Yes....Supreme Leader.” 

Ren kisses him, slow and insistent, and takes his hips. 

He knew Ren was enormous, of course. But kriffing HELLS, it HURT. Hux tacked his own wrist between his teeth and bit down, hard, drawing blood. Stifled a quiet cry as the push and burn of the man split him like the trunk of a tree, splintering, stark and impossible.

He lies, tense and shaking, full and immensely hot. Ren stares at him like he’s the entire galaxy, drinking in the Marshall’s quiet sobs with fretful, attentive pleasure.

Hux exhales, shakily. Loops his arms around Ren’s neck, and snaps, commanding “Move.”

No more words.

...the autopilot light blinks, lazily. The soft hum and beeps of the ship feel like the undulations of an enormous womb, cocooning them. Hux feels like he may never have another coherent thought, ever, again. 

Ren’s fingers probe the length of his spine. He presses his lips to the curve of the man’s shoulder “...Supreme Leader.”

“Mm?”

Hux’ lips quirk “Ren.”

The knight twitches “....ngff.”

The Marshall leans up and presses the tip of his nose to the man’s jaw “Ben?”

“WHAT?!” 

Hux lays his head down and closes his eyes, content “Nothing.”

~Coda~

If there was one thing the endless turn and swell of his many lives had taught him, it was patience.

His former apprentice was soft with sleep and pungent with the spoils of his little....conquest. The General’s limbs no longer shuddered as he slipped amongst them, tugging, tearing. Now all was smooth. Quiet. Close, but not yet....ready. 

He would be patient. He could wait. He had waited a thousand lives. What was a little more time...? Let the children have their play. 

Snoke smiled with Armitage Hux’ lips, and closed the man’s eyes for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That’s NOT all, folks! Stay tuned for the sequel to this three-parter monolith, ‘Revenant’, coming to a desktop/mobile device near you only on A03 ;D
> 
> I’d like to thank all of the wonderful individuals who left kudos, comments and thoughts on this work. Your enthusiasm inspired me to keep writing and has made the whole experience incomparable. Thank you!!!
> 
> And now, a brief Q&A:
> 
> Q: What the HELL, Geisha, Snoke has been possessing Hux the entire time?!
> 
> A: Possessing but not controlling! Most of the time. His weakened spirit couldn’t possess strong force users such as Kylo Ren or Rey, so he bided his time until a suitable, vapid vessel came along. Huxy was a reluctant but logical (and only) choice. 
> 
> Q: ...so...was it Snoke who tried to shoot Ren in the audience chamber?
> 
> A: Nope, that was all our depraved, sleep deprived Ginger Space Nazi.
> 
> Q: But then what’s the deal with Hux’ ‘illness’?
> 
> A: I’m glad you asked. The way I see it, everyone has the ability to channel the force through them (thanks, Daisy Ridley) but a ‘force null’, such as Hux is, lacks the power to ever use or manipulate it. So, there are channels within his body that the force can run through, but not be activated. When Snoke takes over Hux’ body or speaks to him, he’s essentially forcing dormant muscles to suddenly be used. Hux’ body reacts to the invasion as though it’s any kind of virus, and tries to purge it. It doesn’t work, of course, but hence, the flu-like symptoms. 
> 
> Q: Uh-oh. Has Ren actually made it worse by trying to heal Hux?
> 
> A: Fraid so. By smoothing over the wounds Snoke made with his own energy, he’s actually paved the way for Snoke to freely possess poor Hux undetected. Hux won’t view anything tainted by Ren’s scent as an invader, after all. Oops.
> 
> Q: So Snoke was the one who took Hux’ body up to the top of that billboard?!
> 
> A: Yep! He’s been test-driving the poor man for awhile. That time, he was trialling how much danger he could put Hux’ body in before his subconscious mind reacted. He’s testing the limits of his control, if you will. 
> 
> Q: But Geisha, why can’t Ren sense Snoke in Hux, if he’s so powerful?
> 
> A: I was very disappointed and confused by Snoke’s sudden demise in TLJ. Surely a creature capable of ensnaring Kylo Ren for so long wouldn’t be stupid enough to let himself be cut in half without foreseeing it. I personally like the backstory that Snoke is Dark Plagus, and has lived a thousand lives by transferring himself from body to body. He’s much more powerful than Ren, and is perfectly capable of hiding himself in plain sight. Especially behind such a pleasing, distracting face as Hux’. Ren is just a big dumb teenager in love who can’t see the wood from the trees (stop thinking with your DICK, Ren, jeez).
> 
> Q: So Snoke has been watching everything!!! What a perverted creep!
> 
> A: Yep! I’m sure we can all relate. We are Kylux shippers, after all.
> 
> Q: So how much of all of this trash has been Armie!Hux and how much has been Snoke!Hux?!
> 
> A: Pretty much all of it has been our dear Armitage. The only time Snoke truly took over was during the billboard incident. FOR NOW. (dun dun dun)
> 
> Q: AAAAAAH! BUT WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?!
> 
> A: You’ll just have to read the sequel to find out ;D
> 
> PS. I’ll also be working on a new BenArmie fic that won’t leave me alone, so keep your eyes peeled, my darlings! Kisses!


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